They Shook Hands : Year 3
by Dethryl
Summary: Harry Potter's summer holiday has been anything but fun. He's been treated like a common criminal by the Muggles. His circumstances don't begin to improve when he finally breaks out, for one of Voldemort's strongest supporters has likewise escaped, from
1. Prisoner

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

Harry Potter's summer holiday has been anything but fun. He's been treated like a common criminal by the Muggles. His circumstances don't begin to improve when he finally breaks out, for one of Voldemort's strongest supporters has likewise escaped, from Azkaban, the most secure place in England. The mad Sirius Black killed thirteen people with a single curse and now is believed to be after Harry. The Ministry of Magic takes drastic security measures, but what can stop the first man to elude the dreaded Dementors? Harry Potter is not safe, even within the walls of Hogwarts, for rumours are told that a traitor may well be in their midst.

Don't read unless you've first read Year One and Year Two.

**STOP AND READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE!**

This story was begun in 2001, post-GOF. As such, it contains several anachronisms. Blaise Zabini is written as a blonde girl. Nott's first name is Tim. There is a new character named Jenna Moon. Please don't lose your shirt because it's not 100% canonesque. Now that the canon is complete, I have revised the story to take into account later details, including some things from Pottermore (don't worry, nothing spoilery!). Names were changed to protect the innocent: Tim to Theo, Jenna Moon to Daphne Greengrass, and Blaise Zabini to Tracy Davis. The black kid who doesn't get any screentime in canon until HBP is worked in by a particular fit of genius. It's as close as I can make it to canon without rewriting the entire series, and I'm not going to go that far. I am leaving this original version of the story posted for posterity.

**If you are new to this story, please read the Revision! You can find the link in my profile.**

**Chapter One - Prisoner**

Harry Potter was angry. Never in his near-thirteen years could he recall ever being this angry. He was angry at his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, non-magical Muggles, both of whom hated Harry and his wizarding world. Most of all, he was angry at himself for having been so stupid as to return to Privet Drive.

"Let me out of here! You have no right to keep me locked up!" he shouted through the bedroom door. "I'm going to make you pay for this!

Harry turned to his bedside table to get his wand. He knew just the spell to burst the door open. And then the fun would begin.

But his wand was not where he had left it through the night. The bottom of his stomach dropped out. Harry fell to his knees to search the floor but only confirmed his gut feeling: his wand was gone - taken! - and it could only have been by the Dursleys.

He sprang to his feet and kicked the door. "Give me my wand back!" he screamed. "Open the sodding door! You're writing your own doom!"

"Switch off!" Dudley hollared at him.

Harry's response was very rude and vulgar.

"Language!" Vernon thumped on the door.

"Let me out!"

"Now listen good, boy. I don't want to keep you around, but I'll not have you threatening this family. I can't go to the police with you, so you're going to stay locked up and quiet."

"I just want to leave!" Harry implored.

"You'll stay in that room until I say otherwise."

"How am I supposed to whiz?" Harry demanded.

"I'll let you out once a day."

Harry started swearing again at that point, calling on some of the more colourful parts of his vocabulary gleaned from his good friend Tim Nott and his best mate's father, Lucius Malfoy. Vernon gave no response, and Harry kicked at the door until his feet hurt. Frustrated and furious, he dragged his chair to the window where he sat and pressed his face up against the iron bars. His breathing was ragged as he seethed with vicious thoughts of the hurtful hexing that Vernon so soundly deserved.

The window had been nailed shut, he discovered. "Why not just shackle me to the wall," Harry muttered. Even if he could somehow pry out the nails in the window, his brief hope of sending a message was foiled by the discovery that his eagle owl's cage had been affixed with a sturdy padlock.

Some time later, a tray was shoved through a narrow slot in the door. It held a bowl of watery vegetable soup and a hunk of hard bread. There wasn't much, but he shared half with Regal. The bird was his cellmate and his only friend in this forsaken place. Hours ticked slowly by, and Harry continued to seethe.

Harry counted down the hot, sticky, boring days of July as the summer rolled on. Every day was filled with nothing. To occupy himself, he started doing push-ups and sit-ups. If he went to bed exhausted, he slept longer and spent less time in his horrid reality. He'd never have thought he would miss the back-breaking chores the Dursleys forced him to do, but Harry would have cut each blade of grass with a pair of scissors just for something to break the monotony.

At least he still had all his things. Harry was able to read his school books, and it was somewhat entertaining to hover on his broomstick two metres off the floor. What he really needed was some fire. With a fire he could brew up some Dissolving Draught and break his way out in no time. Unfortunately, without wand or matches, Harry had no way to produce a flame.

Harry soon had cause to chide himself for objecting to his boredom. Towards the end of the month, Uncle Vernon unlocked the door to let Harry use the loo and followed him into the gaol cell when he was done.

"My sister Marge will be visiting us at the beginning of August," he said without preamble. "As she expects to see you, you'll be let out for her visit."

Vernon's sister Marge was no blood relationship to Harry, but he had still been forced to call her "Aunt" all his life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, in a house with a large garden, where she bred bulldogs. She didn't often stay at Privet Drive, because she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs, but whenever she did, Harry had hated every minute of it.

"Why is _she_ coming?"

"None of that tone. You'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking to Marge."

"Only if she does when she's talking to me."

"I don't want any - any _funny_ stuff while she's here. She knows nothing about your abnormality. We've told her you attend St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys."

"What!"

"And you'll be sticking to that story, boy, or there'll be trouble."

"Can't I just leave? You can tell her I ran away! It'll be the truth!"

"She'll be here for one week. _If_ you behave, you can feel free to run away then."

"Why are you doing this?" Harry pleaded.

"Do we have a deal?"

Harry ground his teeth. He hated Aunt Marge, had hated every single minute of her every visit. He could still recall them all with vivid detail. At Dudley's fifth birthday party, she had whacked Harry across the shins with her walking stick to keep him from beating Dudley at musical statues. A few years later she had shown up at Christmas with a computerized robot for Dudley and a box of dog biscuits for Harry. On her last visit, the year before Harry had started at Hogwarts, Harry had accidentally stepped on the tail of her favourite dog. Ripper had chased Harry out into the garden and up a tree, where Aunt Marge had refused to call him off until after midnight.

This visit would only be more shame and scorn directed his way. If it meant his freedom, though, Harry knew he could endure anything. Once he got out and back to his proper world, then he could hatch a plan for revenge.

"Deal," Harry said shortly.

"Good. She arrives on Saturday." Harry's birthday. What a rotten present.

He had nearly a week to dread Aunt Marge's visit, but Harry didn't spend his time idly. He was hindered by not being able to build or control a fire, but he still bent his brain to devising an escape plan.

When Saturday finally arrived, Harry woke early. He sang the birthday song to himself as he dressed. Nobody in the house likely remembered or cared, but Harry was thirteen years old now. He was a proper teenager, and he was full of reckless daring. Today was his only chance; he would not miss it.

Around half nine, Uncle Vernon unlocked his cell door. "I'm going to pick up Marge at the station. You get downstairs and help your aunt with luncheon."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said in what he hoped was a defeated tone.

Vernon eyed him for a moment, then shoved him roughly out of the room and down the stairs. "Dudders? Want to come along for the ride?"

"No thanks." Dudley, who was as fat as ever, didn't even look up from his handheld video game.

"Duddy's got to make himself smart for his auntie," Aunt Petunia simpered, smoothing Dudley's thick blond hair. "Mummy's bought him a nice new bow tie."

"I'll be back in a bit then," Vernon said, and he left the house.

"Don't just stand there, boy," Aunt Petunia snapped. "Get some water boiling!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry set to his chores with diligence. When things were fairly well along, Harry crossed his legs.

"I need to pee," he announced.

"Well don't _talk_ about it, for goodness' sake," Aunt Petunia dismissed him. She was preoccupied with fixing Dudley's bow tie, a task made more difficult by his refusal to lift his fat chin.

Harry wasted no time in bolting up the stairs, but he didn't even glance at the water closet. He went directly into Uncle Vernon's bedroom. He had to be quick. This was his only chance. Where would the great Muggle hide a magic wand? Not somewhere he would have to touch it or even look at it.

Harry rifled through the bedside table, and in an old box of cigars he found eleven inches of holly with a phoenix feather core. Reverantly, Harry brought the wand to his lips and kissed it. He could have wept.

The only place he could really conceal the wand was in his sock, under his pants leg. It would do until he needed it, and he would need it before much longer.

Harry quick-stepped to the loo and flushed the toilet. Then he took the time to wash his hands. He slouched back downstairs and into the kitchen where he set to stirring the soup. He did his best not to smile.

Shortly before eleven, there was a crunch of gravel outside as Uncle Vernon's car pulled back into the driveway. Harry, busy in the kitchen, barely heard the car doors slam, but as the front door banged open, Aunt Petunia shooed him out to go carry luggage.

Harry swallowed his emotions and pulled on a hopeless expression. On the threshold stood Aunt Marge. She was very like Uncle Vernon: large, beefy, and purple-faced. She even had a mustache, though it was not nearly so bushy as his. In one hand she held an enormous suitcase, and tucked under the other arm was an old and evil-tempered bulldog.

"Where's my Dudders?" Aunt Marge roared. "Where's my neffy-poo?"

Dudley waddled in from the living room. His blond hair was plastered flat to his fat head, and his new bow tie was barely visible under all his chins. Aunt Marge thrust her suitcase at Harry, catching him under the ribs and knocking the breath out of him, as she seized Dudley in a tight, one-armed hug and planted a large kiss on his cheek.

Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley only tolerated Aunt Marge's attentions because he was well-bribed. Sure enough, when they broke apart, Dudley had a crisp twenty-pound note clutched in his fat fist.

"Petunia!" their guest shouted, ignoring Harry entirely as she strode towards the kitchen. Aunt Petunia was barely two steps out when Aunt Marge got to her, and the two women kissed cheeks.

Uncle Vernon now came in, smiling jovially as he shut the door. "Tea, Marge? And what will Ripper take?"

"Ripper can have some tea out of my saucer," Aunt Marge decided, and they all proceeded into the kitchen. Harry was left standing in the hallway, wheezing as he tried to get his wind back, with only Aunt Marge's suitcase for company. Well, that was just fine by him. Any excuse to delay the inevitable was a good one.

Harry heaved the heavy suitcase upstairs, taking as long as he could to get it into the spare bedroom. By the time he returned to the kitchen, Aunt Marge had been supplied with tea and fruitcake, and Ripper was noisily lapping away in the corner. Harry took a small pleasure in watching Aunt Petunia's wincing as specks of tea and drool flecked her clean floor. Aunt Petunia hated animals.

"Who's looking after the dogs, Marge?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," she boomed. "He's retired now. Good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me."

Ripper began to growl again as Harry sat down at the table. This drew Aunt Marge's attention to Harry for the first time.

"So!" she barked. "Still here, are you?"

"Yes."

"Don't you say 'yes' in that ungrateful tone," Aunt Marge snapped at him. "It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn't have done it myself. You'd have gone straight to the orphanage if you'd been dumped on _my_ doorstep."

"I hear the orphanages are very nice," Harry said before he could stop himself.

Marge looked at him coolly. "I can see you haven't improved since I last saw you. Wipe that smirk off your face. I had hoped school would knock some manners into you." She took a large gulp of tea and wiped her mustache. "Where is it that you send him, Vernon? I've forgotten."

"St. Brutus's. It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases."

"I see. Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's, boy?"

"Of course," Harry said, seeing Uncle Vernon nodding emphatically. "All the time."

"Excellent! I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have _you_ been beaten often?"

"Not really," Harry replied. "I'm a model student."

Aunt Marge's eyes narrowed. "I still don't like your tone, boy. Perhaps you can fool your instructors, but I see right through you. If they won't discipline you properly, perhaps someone else should. Vernon, fetch my walking stick."

"Don't trouble yourself, Marge. I'll take care of it myself after tea."

"Only if you use my stick."

Aunt Petunia took that moment to pour more tea and abruptly change the subject. "Did you hear the news this morning, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, hmm?"

"I did! What sort of stupidity was it not telling where he escaped from?"

"My very words," Vernon contributed. "An escaped murderer, a true maniac by the look of him, armed and dangerous and they can't be bothered to tell."

"Did you see that horrible picture? That matted tangle of hair, that gaunt face? I swear, I won't sleep soundly for a week."

"When will they learn that hanging's the only way to deal with these people?"

"I know, Vernon, I know. Whether it's this Black fellow or the serial rapist they caught last month, the only way to protect society is to eliminate those evolutionary dead-ends."

After tea, Uncle Vernon followed through on his promise to thrash Harry, though he didn't do it very hard or very long. He didn't even use the walking stick. Harry was at a loss to explain this weakness on Vernon's part, but his bottom certainly wasn't complaining.

As Aunt Marge started to make herself at home, Harry thought almost longingly about being locked up in his bedroom. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon normally did their best to pretend he didn't exist, but Aunt Marge delighted in tormenting him and running him down. She was constantly booming out suggestions for his improvement, comparing him unfavourably to Dudley, and throwing out dark hints about what made Harry such an unsatisfactory person.

"You mustn't blame yourself for how the boy turned out, Vernon," she soothed him at dinner that night. "If there's something rotten on the _inside_, there's nothing anyone can do about it. It's one of the basic rules of breeding. You see it all the time with dogs. Every so often, you have to put one of them down."

Harry tried to concentrate on his food, on giving his body the nourishment it would need for tonight. It wasn't easy. His face was starting to burn with anger, and his hands were shaking. She was getting to him, he realized.

Aunt Marge reached for her glass of wine. "If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pups."

The wineglass exploded in her hand! Shards of glass flew in every direction, and Aunt Marge sputtered and blinked, her great ruddy face dripping.

"Marge!" Aunt Petunia squealed. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, not to worry," she grunted, mopping her face with her napkin. "Must have squeezed it too hard. I have a very firm grip. Did the exact same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia."

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were both looking suspiciously at Harry. Doing his best to convey his innocence through glances, Harry knelt down to pick up some of the broken shards.

"Are we ready for dessert, then?" Aunt Petunia asked.

"Yes, a splendid idea, Petunia. Marge, can I tempt you with a spot of brandy?"

"Perhaps a small one," the large woman allowed. "Not in the coffee, if you please. A bit more than that. Just a touch more. Ah, that's the ticket."

With one large swallow, Aunt Marge emptied the brandy glass. "Aah!" she exclaimed, smacking her lips. "That's some fine stuff, Vernon. And Petunia, excellent nosh. I stick to simple things, myself, seeing as how it's just me and the dogs." She belched richly and patted her great stomach.

"Now then, what was I saying? Yes, I'll have a spot more brandy. Oh yes, breeding. That one there," she thrust her large jaw towards Harry, "has got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs too. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred. It all comes down to blood. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm not saying anything against your family, Petunia, but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best of families. Then she ran off with a wastrel, and here's the result right in front of us."

Harry felt his ears turning red. He spooned some more pudding into his mouth, but he couldn't stop listening to the evil woman before him.

"This Potter," she said loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and sloshing more into her glass. "You never told me what he did."

"Nothing. He didn't work," Aunt Petunia, who was exchanging nervous glances with Uncle Vernon. Even Dudley had stopped stuffing his face to watch the little drama unfolding before him.

"As I expected!" Marge boomed. She took a huge swig of brandy and wiped her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger living off the system!"

"He was not!" Harry said angrily. He was shaking all over, and the Dursleys had gone stone silent. Harry ignored them, putting all his great loathing into the stare he directed at Aunt Marge.

That look was returned. "Oh really now? Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash, soused to the gills, I expect, and leave you to be a burden on your decent, hard-working relatives!"

"They didn't die in a car crash!"

"You nasty little liar! You are an insolent, ungrateful-"

Harry could take no more, and he stood up so fast that his chair fell over. His wand was in his hand, though he didn't remember pulling it from his sock. A queer sort of redness tinged everything.

"What've you got there?" Aunt Marge demanded, squinting her bloodshot eyes at him. "If you're going to point a stick at someone, make it a proper stick."

Uncle Vernon, however, was staring bug-eyed at the wand in Harry's hand. "How did you get that?"

"Shut up! All of you shut up! I won't have you talking about my mum and dad like that!"

"Potter, don't be stupid-"

"_Everte statum!_"

The blast of yellow light slammed Vernon back against the wall. Aunt Petunia shrieked and ran to his side. Aunt Marge sat straight up, finally shaken out of her brandy-induced obliviousness.

"What's going on here?"

"_Flabre inflare!_" Marge hit the wall inches away from her brother. Her chair fell to pieces, and she landed heavily on the floor.

Aunt Petunia was sobbing in fear. Dudley jumped out of his chair and frantically lumbered for the door to escape.

"_Impedimentia!_" The boy froze in place, one foot still raised in the air. Harry was briefly surprised -the spell was only supposed to slow the target down - but he was too wound up to care for long.

"Boy, what are you doing?" Aunt Marge was staggering to her feet.

"_Instigo calvae!_" All of the hair fell out of her head, even her mustache.

"_Obstringere!_" Rope appeared from nowhere to tie up Aunt Petunia. Suddenly helpless, she squirmed on the floor in a panic.

Vernon was sitting up now, backed into a corner, his beady eyes filled with fear.

"Hear me now," Harry hissed darkly at them all. "I could kill you all, and Merlin knows I want to."

"You can't do any such thing," Marge blustered, still not realizing that Harry was in charge. At the moment she was ignoring her bald scalp and focusing on the wand in Harry's hand.

Ripper chose that moment to interfere, and he sank his teeth into Harry's ankle. Harry shouted in surprise and tried to kick the dog off unsuccessfully. His eyes narrowed as he aimed his wand downwards.

"_Petrificus totalis!_" Ripper's entire body stiffened up, making him look like nothing so much as an extremely vicious garden statue. Harry yanked his leg back, ripping his trousers in the process.

Aunt Marge lunged at Harry while the wand was pointed away from her, but he was too quick. He leapt backwards, narrowed his eyes at the hateful woman, and spoke one final bit of magic.

"_Engorgio!_" Aunt Marge took a deep breath, her great chest swelling with inexpressible anger - but the swelling didn't stop. Her red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech. A button burst off her tweed jacket and pinged off the wall.

"Marge!" Vernon yelled, getting to his feet. Marge was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband. Each of her fingers was blowing up like salami. In a few moments she was entirely round, like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes. Her hands and feet stuck out oddly as she floated up into the air. She was making strange apoplectic popping noises. Vernon tried to grab hold of her, but her foot slipped out of his grasp as he was almost lifted up himself.

Harry felt truly righteous. He folded his arms across his chest. "Muggles," he sneered at them. "How dare you lay hands on me? How dare you starve me and beat me? And the way you speak about things of which you know nothing! I should do more to you. You certainly deserve it. Give me a reason, and I will."

With that warning, Harry walked upstairs to get his school trunk. A simple bursting charm sprang the lock on Regal's cage, and the eagle owl perched on his shoulder as he thumped down the stairs.

Vernon stood in his way. "You put her back!" he screamed. His beefy face was bright red. "You fix my sister!"

"Fix her yourself," Harry said derisively, and he pointed his wand at the man's eye. Fear unmeasurable filled Vernon's face as he scrambled backwards. "This is all _your_ fault. If you had only let me leave, you'd all be fine. I hope you all burn."

"No!" Vernon gasped. "Don't burn us!"

Harry let a wicked smile creep onto his face. "_Densaugeo!_"

As he strode into the night feeling fully vindicated, Harry could hear the screams as Vernon's teeth began to grow. They would keep growing, he knew, and eventually his mouth would be wedged open.

"Miserable Muggle. You deserve so much more."

Harry did not look back as he walked away from Privet Drive forever.

to be continued...


	2. Escape

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Two - Escape**

The night air tasted downright delicious. In books, the prisoner always longed for the breath of free air, and now Harry knew why. There was something pure about it, something rejuvenating. He drew in several deep lungfuls, feeling a bit giddy.

His anger was fading away like the wisps of clouds in the night sky. The Muggles would never again bother him, and he put everything about them behind him. He was almost beginning to forget the name of this awful place. He was free.

Harry put his original plan into action. He'd gone back to Privet Drive to get the letter that Professor Dumbledore had left with him on the Dursleys' doorstep. The envelope that Aunt Petunia had given him was empty, just one more of her Muggle tricks. With nothing else to hold him to Privet Drive, he had planned to take the train back to London and figure out things from the safety of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Well there's no trains at night," he said aloud. "I've faced down Dark wizards; I can survive a night on my own." He had his wand. Nobody would be able to lay a hand on him.

In any case, he wanted to get as far from this rotten place as possible. He'd cast a lot of magic tonight, he realized: at least half a dozen violations of the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry. Harry was honestly surprised that Ministry of Magic representatives weren't swooping down on him already. He'd never been in trouble with the law before, but using magic in front of Muggles - _on_ Muggles - was serious business indeed.

He set his trunk down and pulled out a sheet of parchment. Quickly scribbling a note, he tied the scroll to Regal's leg and said, "Regal, this is very important. You must fly as fast as you can and give this letter to Mister Lucius Malfoy. I need help, and he's very well-connected. Do you understand?"

Regal hooted and sprang into the air at once. Flapping his wings rapidly, he was out of sight within eyeblinks. Harry envied his pet at that moment. It would be so much more convenient to mount his broom and follow, but it was safer to lay low and be inconspicuous. People might be looking for him.

_Stick to the Muggle world_, he thought. _Easier to escape notice._ Nobody in the Muggle world had ever paid any attention to Harry.

The wind rustled the leaves of the trees. It was a cool night, he finally noticed. He opened his trunk again and took out his favourite cloak: Slytherin green satin with Slytherin silver fur lining. Harry felt a surge of House pride as he donned his colours. Slytherin House was certainly the best of the four Hogwarts houses.

A chill tongue of wind tickled its way inside Harry's hood. Then the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. How he knew, Harry couldn't say, but he was sure of it. He dropped his right hand down to the wand sheathed at his belt.

Harry peered into the night. The nearest light pole was a block away, but he'd grown up in the dark of the cupboard under the stairs. Darkness was an old friend.

There! In the narrow gap between a garage and boundary fence. He'd seen a gleam of light. A stray beam had twinkled in the eye of - something. Curious, Harry kicked his trunk closed and started forward.

As he got closer, Harry realized that the eyes were low to the ground. _Just an animal_, he thought with relief. As if it, too, sensed the end of the mystery, the beast stepped out into the dim light.

It was a dog. A very big dog, too. It must have been lying down before. It was a great shaggy beast, though its black fur was matted and bedraggled. The eyes were wide and pale, not menacing at all.

Harry chuckled. "Aw, you don't look half so scary as I imagined." He'd been picturing Ministry officials. "Are you lost, boy?" Nobody in the neighborhood had a dog like this, he was certain. Aunt Petunia, the tremendous gossip that she was, would have known about it.

"Woof," the dog said, shaking his head. His great ears went flopping around.

"C'mere, boy," Harry coaxed, reaching out with his left hand. He'd never had a dog, and his only experience with them was Aunt Marge's evil beast, Ripper, but that one always immediately went for the ankle. "Are you friendly?"

The dog whuffed again and trotted over to sniff Harry's hand. The big nose snuffling tickled, but Harry didn't pull away. Eventually the dog tired of his hand and moved on to sniffing at his shoes. Harry stroked the matted fur.

"You're skinny," he told the dog. "You need a bath and a good meal, boy."

"Woof."

"I wish I could take you with me. You'd be great for scaring Weasley. Oh, Weasley's this boy at school who's the biggest prat you've ever seen. He'd never sleep again if he got a good look at you. But they don't allow dogs at Hog- at school. Cats are okay, but not dogs."

"Woof."

"You like to chase cats? You'd have to stay out of the dorm then. We've got three in our year alone."

Harry started scratching the dog behind the ears. "I've got to get moving. Want to come with me for a little bit at least? We could keep each other company."

"Woof."

Harry walked back and picked up the handle of his trunk. He drew his wand, pointed the tip out between the folds of his cloak, and uttered, "_Lumos!_"

A beam of white light shot out of the end to illuminate the ground. _Just like a flashlight._ With his new friend trotting along beside him, Harry began walking towards the train station, but he really felt like flying. After so much grief at the hands of the Muggles, he was free. He would never go back, Harry vowed, no matter what. He had already made a new friend, and surely more good fortune would follow.

A stone wall simply _beckoned_ Harry to climb up and walk along the top. The dog looked up at Harry with a cocked expression as the handle on his trunk extended automatically. Harry winked at his companion. "Just a little magic, boy."

"Woof."

Then, between not paying full attention to where he was going and closing one eye, Harry lost his balance. He dropped the trunk and tried to catch himself. His wand, glowing spark of light at the tip, flew up into the air, spiraling end over end.

He landed hard on the sidewalk with a thud. The impact was rough, but not too bad. The wall he'd been walking on was only a couple of feet high, and Harry was thankful for that.

"Only my pride," he said with a laugh as he got to his feet.

Bang!

The sudden shock of noise startled Harry half out of his skin. He leapt back up onto the stone wall and looked for his wand.

There! It was lying on the grass at the other end of the lawn. Harry ran to it, crouching low, and dropped over the side of the wall for cover.

A great, triple-decker city bus had appeared out of nowhere. It was violently purple in colour, with giant wheels and blindingly bright headlamps. It had come to a stop only inches from where Harry had been sprawled. Bright gold lettering over the windshield spelled _The Knight Bus_.

For a split second, Harry wondered if he had been knocked silly by his fall. Then a conductor in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began to speak loudly to the night in a very bored tone of voice.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening."

Stan Shunpike had large, protruding ears, and a pimply face. He couldn't have been more than twenty years old. He looked around now that he was done with his monologue. "'Ello?"

Harry slowly stood up from his cover behind the stone wall. He kept his wand at the ready, just in case.

"Oh, 'ello there. You signalled for the Knight Bus, then?"

The wheels were churning in Harry's mind. If this Knight Bus could take him anywhere, he wouldn't have to wait for the train.

"Yes," he declared. "Though the driver needs a few lessons." He scratched the dog behind the ears. "I'm going now, boy. Be a good dog. I hope you find a good home."

Stan grabbed hold of Harry's trunk and humped it up into the bus. He grunted, the cords sticking out in his neck from the weight. "Blimey, there's bricks in 'ere."

Harry climbed in after him, ignoring the dog's sad gaze. "How much to get to Wiltshire?"

"Fifteen Sickles," said Stan. "But for eighteen, you get 'ot chocolate, and for nineteen you get a 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in the colour of your choice.

Harry popped open his school trunk and fished out his money pouch. "Here," he said shortly, dropping eighteen silver coins in the young man's hand.

There were no seats on this bus. Half a dozen brass bedstands stood behind the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls. An older blonde witch was talking in her sleep, murmuring, "I just need one more ingredient."

"You 'ave this one," Stan whispered, shoving Harry's trunk under the bed right behind the driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of the steering wheel. "This is our driver, Arthur Weasley."

Harry's head snapped up sharply. Sure enough, the older man with thinning red hair he had seen in Diagon Alley a year ago was smiling at him. "Good evening, young sir."

"Mister Weasley," Harry mumbled.

"Take 'er away, Art."

There was another tremendous bang, and the next moment, Harry found himself flat on his bed, thrown backward by the speed of the Knight Bus. Pulling himself up, Harry stared out of the dark window and saw that they were now bowling along a completely different street. Stan was watching Harry's stunned face with great enjoyment.

"This is where we was before you flagged us down. Where are we, Art? Somewhere in North Eire, right?"

"Correct."

"How come the Muggles don't hear the bus?" Harry asked curiously.

"Them!" Stan said contemptuously. "Don't listen properly, do they? Don't look properly neither. Never notice nuffink, they don't."

"Now, now, Stan, there's a lot of very bright Muggles out there," Mr. Weasley disagreed.

Stan ignored the bait amd disappeared up a narrow wooden staircase. Harry looked back out the window, feeling increasingly nervous. Mr. Weasley didn't seem to have fully grasped the use of the steering wheel. The Knight Bus kept mounting the pavement, but it didn't hit anything. Lines of lamposts, post boxes, and dust bins jumped out of its way as it approached and back into position once it had passed.

Stan came back down the stairs with a tiny little wizard who looked right chipper. "'Ere you go, Mister Dammad," he said cheerfully as Mr. Weasley stamped on the brake and the beds slid a foot or so toward the front of the bus. Mr. Dammad hopped down the steps, Stan tossed his bag out after him and rammed the doors shut, and they went thundering down a narrow country lane with another stunning bang!

Harry wouldn't have been able to sleep, even if he had been on a bus that didn't bang loudly or jump a hundred miles at a time. His stomach churned, and he tried to sip at his hot chocolate. It wasn't easy, and a great deal of it ended up spilled down his front.

"How long?" he asked Stan, who was busy reading the _Daily Prophet_ with his tongue between his teeth.

"As long as it takes," Stan answered. "Not more'n a day."

"A day!" Harry yelped.

"Only joshin'. We 'ave to delivah all the customahs 'oo came on 'fore yeh. Then we drop yeh in Wiltshire. Lucky-ly, there be only a few wizards left, an' they're all goin' te Diagon Alley."

Though it took Harry a few moments to decipher Stan's abhominable Cockney accent, he got the gist that he was going to get off last. "So, wot, a few hours?"

"'Bout that."

Harry grunted and pointed at Stan's paper. "Do you have another copy?"

"'Ere yeh go."

A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinked slowly at Harry from the front page. He seemed oddly familiar for some reason, but Harry knew he'd never seen the man before.

**BLACK STILL AT LARGE**

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.

"We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm."

Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.

"Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it - who'd believe him if he did?"

While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a type of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.

This was the Black fellow that Vernon and Marge had been talking about, Harry realized. His lip curled as he realized that, not only was he thinking about the Muggles again, but that they'd been bad-mouthing a wizard, yet again.

Harry looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seemed alive. Harry had never met a vampire, but he had seen pictures of them in his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, and Black, with his waxy, white skin, looked just like one.

Anger burned in Black's eyes. It was a prison photo, but it didn't seem as though the anger was directed at his circumstances. Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but the entire pose seemed off somehow.

"Thirteen people," Harry murmured.

"With one curse," Stan nodded. "During broad daylight, in fron'a witnesses an' all. Huge trouble, wannit, Art?"

"Oh yes. Black was a huge supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but once he was defeated by little Harry Potter, all of his followers were tracked down. Most of them knew it was over once their master was gone and came quietly, but Black was a different breed altogether. Rumour says that he was going to be number two once You-Know-Who had taken over."

"If he was so powerful, then how'd they catch him?" Harry wanted to know.

"Well, nobody's ever been able to figure it out," Mr. Weasley continued, his driving getting worse now that his attention was divided. A farmhouse had to leap out of the way to avoid the bus. "Witnesses say that Black was confronted by another wizard, in a street full of Muggles, and that he blasted half the street apart, killing a dozen Muggles and the wizard. When the Aurors arrived, they found him laughing insanely in the middle of the rubble."

"_Laughing_?"

"Laughing. And he went with the Aurors as peacefully as you like. So far as we know, he's still laughing. He's quite insane. If he wasn't when he went, he certainly is after twelve years in Azkaban. I'd blow myself up before I faced that. He deserves it, of course, after what he did. Those poor, innocent people."

"They 'ad a job coverin' it up, din' they, Art? Too much chaos teh even cat-alogue. What woz it they said?"

"Gas explosion."

"An' 'e's out now," said Stan. "Never been a breakout befoe'. Beats me 'ow 'e did it. Frightenin', wot? Mind, I don't fancy 'is chances 'gainst those Azkaban guards, eh, Art?"

"Please stop talking about it, Stan. There's no need to frighten our young passenger."

Stan shivered dramatically and then climbed up the stairs again, leaving Harry alone with Mr. Weasley, who he didn't try to talk to. Instead, he mused on the great deal of trouble he was in.

Harry had broken some serious wizarding laws. The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry had been in place since, since, well, a long time to be sure. Tim Nott or Blaise Zabini, his two smartest friends, would know for sure. Worse, in the eyes of the law, he had cast magic on Muggles: a very stern offence. He was sure of at least that much.

_But they deserved it!_ he thought fiercely. He wouldn't apologize to anyone for his actions.

There was no sense in worrying about things now, he reasoned. Once he got to Wiltshire and explained his situation to Mr. Malfoy, then he could worry about consequences. Mr. Malfoy would know what to do; he'd handled the situation masterfully when Elan had been accused of being a Death Eater last summer.

_But Elan had to go off to Durmstrang_, his inner voice reminded him. _Do you really want to learn to speak German?_

Harry laid back on his bed, staring up at the swinging chandelier with his hands laced behind his head, and tried to think positively. "If I do go to Durmstrang, at least I'll know somebody."

Despite his worries, and the insane motion of the Knight Bus, Harry did eventually drift off to sleep. Getting used to the Bus was rather like he imagined getting your sea legs would be aboard a ship. Everyone knew that it took a few hours for your body to get used to the motion of the ocean. He was awakened by Stan gently shaking his shoulder, saying, "Rise'n shine, me boy. Weer'n Wiltshiah."

Harry yawned, stretched, and rubbed at his eyes. "What time is is?"

"Jus' afta' midnight."

Harry hoped that the Malfoys had truly meant it when they invited him to stop by "anytime".

"Where'bouts in Wiltshiah did'ja want teh go?"

"Malfoy Manor."

"'Ere that, Art? Malfoy Manor for our last guest."

In the mirror, Harry could see Mr. Weasley's mouth turn into a frown, but thankfully he said nothing as he slammed on the brakes, and the bus skidded to a halt in front of a rickety-seeming wooden building.

Mr. Weasley was yawning hugely as Harry stepped off the bus. Stan heaved Harry's trunk out the door - it was too big and heavy to throw - and waved cheerily before the Knight Bus gave another tremendous bang and disappeared.

Harry stood alone in the darkness. After the constant noise of his transport, the quiet night seemed almost eerie. He could see, clearly illuminated by the full moon, the imposing structure of Malfoy Manor at the top of the gentle hill. It was a distance to walk, but Harry felt energized by his short nap. He seized his school trunk and set off for what he hoped would be his new home.

The double gates opened automatically for him. It felt like home already. Harry smiled as he entered the grounds. He had taken only two steps forward - when his right foot wouldn't lift up! Harry nearly fell over in surprise. His left foot wouldn't lift either! Harry felt a stab of panic. He yanked frantically, but his shoes seemed glued to the ground.

Vines sprang up from the soil and twined up his legs. Harry drew his wand and cast the first spell that came to mind. Green light glowed around his feet, but he still couldn't get loose. His magic had no effect!

The vines were getting thicker now, wrapping around Harry's waist and chest. He took a deep breath and fought off his panic. This was just like when he'd faced the Devil's Snare during his first year at Hogwarts when he'd gone after the Philosopher's Stone. Goyle had cast the spell then, and Harry remembered it well.

"_Incendio!_"

The flames lighted on the vines, but - to Harry's horror - had no effect! He howled as his arms were also captured. He kept on shouting, demanding his release, as the vines covered his head, and he felt himself being dragged down, down, down into blackness.

Harry slowly came back to consciousness. A pale green light burned in the stone room he had been brought to. He sat up. His head hurt atrociously, but at least he was alive.

"Well, this isn't fun," he commented.

He was sitting in a cell that very much resembled Regal's owl cage. There wasn't a door that he could see. Metal bars rose vertically to a high dome over his head, too close together for even Harry to slip through. It seemed that he was a prisoner once more, this time of his friends.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

There was no response. Harry checked his watch and saw that it was still the middle of the night. He'd only been out for an hour or so. He rattled the bars of his cage. Time slowly ticked by, and Harry wondered what was taking the Malfoys so long to investigate. If only he could send them a message somehow.

"Dobby!" he called out suddenly. "Dobby, come here this instant!"

It was the only name Harry could remember of the many house elves that the Malfoys owned. With a stunning bang, the mopey little creature with the wide, staring eyes appeared.

"Dobby, you know who I am."

"S-s-sir is the great Harry Potter, sir."

"I do not belong in this cage. Go to your master at once and tell him there has been a mistake."

"Master is sleeping, now."

"Of course he's sleeping! It's past midnight! Go wake him up!"

Dobby flinched back as Harry shouted at him. The elf dropped to his knees and began pounding his head against the stone floor. "Bad, bad Dobby!" it chanted.

"Stop that!"

"Bad, bad Dobby!"

"Help! I'm locked in a cage next to an insane house elf!"

Dobby staggered around for a bit, finally shook his head, and vanished with a faint popping noise. Harry muttered vile things after the house elf and sat down with his back against the bars of his cage. How long he sat, he could not have said, but eventually he heard footsteps approaching the stone room. He rose to his feet.

A tall man with long blond hair tied back by a black ribbon entered the room. He had a dark green dressing gown on and carried a silver snake-headed cane.

"Mister Malfoy!" Harry said with relief.

"Harry? What in magic's name are you doing here?"

"It was your magical trap. You tell me."

Mr. Malfoy chuckled at that witicism. He snapped his fingers, and the cage bars bowed out, allowing Harry to step free. Once he was clear, they snapped back into place like rubber bands.

"I'm puzzled, Harry. All you had to do was identify yourself to the front gate and the path to the door would have opened up. You could have come into the Manor, stowed your trunk in the guest room, and said hello in the morning. Our home is yours, you know."

"All I had to do," Harry echoed in disbelief. "I didn't know that." And nobody had told him.

"Well, you're no worse for wear, are you? Come, come, I've already had your trunk brought up."

Harry followed Mr. Malfoy up the stairs and out of the dungeon area. They passed through the foyer and up to the second floor. Harry was to stay in the same room that he'd had last summer, when Elan and Draco had rescued him from Privet Drive. His things were all there, still packed away in the heavy trunk.

"Nibby!" Mr. Malfoy called. Another house elf appeared with a bang. "Fetch Harry Potter anything he would like to eat or drink. See to all his needs."

"Thank you, sir."

"No trouble, Harry. I'll see you at breakfast. We'll talk then."

Mr. Malfoy left the room, covering a yawn with his hand. Harry would have felt guilty about rousing the man in the middle of the night were it not for the fact that he'd been locked in a cage.

"Cold pumpkin juice," he told Nibby. "Toast with strawberry jam, and some fried potatoes."

Harry could have eaten much more than that, but he didn't want to sleep with a stuffed stomach. He could never rest when he did that, and rest was what he wanted most.

Nibby bowed silently and popped out noisily. A short time later, the elf returned bearing a silver tray with Harry's late night snack. There was actually more than what Harry had asked for. In addition to his juice, toast, and potatoes, there was also a glass of milk and a fried egg. There was even a small piece of chocolate.

"Nibby hopes you do not mind, sir," it said nervously. "Nibby heard Harry Potter's stomach talking and brought more food."

What a thoughtful little elf! Harry smiled at it. "No, that's fine. That will be all. Thank you."

When he had eaten, Harry pulled off his travelling clothes and donned his pyjamas. "Good night," he said to no one, and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

to be continued...


	3. Malfoy Manor

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Three - Malfoy Manor**

"You manky, Scots git!"

Harry came awake with a jarring shock. He turned wide eyes towards the door and saw Draco, his best mate in the world, standing with his fists on his hips.

"What did I do?"

"Setting off the traps? Earning _me_ a lecture from Father for not telling you the key to the front door? I would have, if you'd told me you were coming, prat."

Harry snorted. "Jolly hard to do that when they lock your messenger in his cage."

Draco's offended manner dropped instantly. "They _didn't_," he breathed.

"Oh yes. Me, too, in case you were wondering where _I've_ been since school got out."

"How'd you get out?"

Harry smirked in a self-satisfied manner. "Draco, my friend, have a seat. Now, you know why I went back. I ended up having to take the train out to Surrey because they didn't pick me up. So I had to drag my trunk from the station to Privet Drive. I'm absolutely knackered by the time I arrive, and it's getting dark. I made a few threats, washed, and went to bed."

"Uh oh."

"Uh oh," Harry agreed. "When I woke up, Regal was locked up, I was locked up, and they'd taken my wand."

"No!"

"Let out once a day to whiz, but locked up in that cell! The most horrible food! The heat! It was awful!"

"How did you escape?"

"Uncle Vernon's sister Marge came to visit. She hates me too, but she doesn't know about magic. I was threatened all kinds of awful to behave, but I snuck away, found my wand, and hexed the lot."

"Good show!" Draco cheered. "Wait, hexed? You hexed the Muggles?"

Harry nodded slowly.

The strange look Draco was giving Harry made his skin crawl. "What?" he asked, just to break the sudden silence.

"How did it feel?" Draco's question was very matter-of-fact.

Harry didn't hesitate. "Righteous. It felt absolutely righteous."

Now Draco nodded slowly. "You've had a taste, now, of what sort of treatment wizards got from Muggles in the old days, and how wizards had to protect themselves. You understand. But the old days were gone well before either of us was born, and you're likely in a lot of trouble."

"I know. I already sent a letter to your dad, but I haven't talked with him yet."

"He ought to be down at breakfast by now. Hungry?"

"Always."

Harry splashed some water on his face. He would have a full bath later, but he needed food more urgently. He was at least mostly presentable when he gave in to the growling of his stomach and headed for the dining room.

The entire Malfoy family was seated and enjoying breakfast when Harry arrived. Harry went directly to Mr. Malfoy, who was sipping at his coffee.

"Sir, I'm in a lot of trouble."

The elder man smiled confidently. "Oh, not all that much, I wager."

"Mister Malfoy, I hexed the Muggles."

"We'll give you a medal for that later."

"I hexed Aunt Marge, and she didn't even know about magic."

Mr. Malfoy was smiling in the self-satisfied way that all Malfoys seemed able. "It was fortunate, then, that I placed some of my friends in the Improper Use of Magic Office. After the stories you told me of how the Muggles treated you, I suspected you would soon reach a breaking point. Then those _Dursleys_ would get what they fully deserved. When the Monitoring Charms went off, my people were able to keep everything quiet. No reports were made. I suspect a few of them even cheered you on."

"What about the Muggles then? They're still- I mean they haven't been- umm- fixed."

"Why is that a problem?" Mr. Malfoy asked with artful confusion.

Harry squirmed. "Well, it's not, per se, but-"

"They've learned their lesson, which is what you wanted, and I expect an owl at any moment informing me that the damage has been undone. It all has to be done quietly, you understand."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Malfoy waved him towards the nearest chair, and Harry quickly loaded his plate.

"So tell me, Harry, how did you arrive so quickly? You got here before your owl did."

"Accidentally hailed the Knight Bus," he answered around a bite of eggs. "Figured it would be quicker and safer than the train. Guess who the driver was! Arthur Weasley!"

"Don't talk with you mouth full, dear," Mrs. Malfoy admonished him.

"Sorry."

The corners of Mr. Malfoy's mouth slowly turned up in a vaguely wicked smile. "How - amusing. I could have easily seen him sacked from the Ministry altogether, but it is far more delicious to enjoy his humiliation and despair."

"Like father, like son," Draco chimed in. "The Weasley in our form is a constant source of entertainment."

"Do you remember when Longbottom melted Weasley's cauldron for the dozenth time and Snape started shouting at them?"

"One of his finest moments," Draco agreed. Harry wasn't sure if he meant Weasley, Longbottom, or Snape. He could easily have meant all three.

"So if I'm not in trouble with the law, what are we doing today?"

"We could play some Quidditch," Draco posed. "I'm supposed to make a fire call to the rest of the gang after lunch."

"I'd love to play Quidditch. When I was locked up, I would sit on my broom and just hover."

"Why tease yourself?"

"Because if I was flying, then I wasn't a Muggle."

"Well let's go flying at least," Draco said. "That is, you can fly, and I'll limp along pathetically on an old broom."

"Subtle," Elan commented, his first words since Harry arrived at the table.

Draco made a face at his older brother. "Or you could let me borrow your Nimbus and you can catch up with Elan. He'll be glad to tell you all about Durmstrang."

"Maybe another time?" Harry queried. Durmstrang did sound very interesting, but Harry was more interested in open sky.

"Whenever you like, Harry. Good to see you again."

"And you."

"May I be excused, please?"

"Yes, Draco. You boys have fun."

"Yes, ma'am."

They ended up playing no Quidditch at all.

Harry's friends were all appropriately astounded at the tale of his escape from Privet Drive. Each and every one of them expressed how very concerned he or she had been when Harry hadn't immediately shown up at Malfoy Manor (or at any of their homes, for that matter) following the train ride home from Hogwarts. Blaise Zabini was so delighted to see him that she wouldn't let go of his arm for fifteen minutes. They discussed the severe trouble Harry should have landed in, admired the genius of Draco's father, and then put the subject behind them.

It didn't matter to Harry what they talked about, just so long as it was wizardly. His new resolution to rid his life of all things Muggle was joined by a realization that he needed to learn more, much more, about the wizarding world.

"Are there any good bands going around this summer?" he asked. Draco had introduced him to some wizard music groups over the last summer, but he couldn't recall much about them.

"Celestina Warbeck has a few shows in Scotland," Pansy Parkinson said. "Her new song Splinched gets played on the wireless every hour."

"I haven't heard a wireless since last summer," Harry told her. "How does it go?"

"'Can't get my love together, hear it in my voice. Can't get my love together, just cannot make a choice. Can't get my love together, can't make the pieces fit. Can't get my love together, feel absolutely splinched.'"

Pansy's voice was still a lovely soprano. She was one of the minor stars of the Hogwarts School Choir, destined to move on to greater solo roles as older girls left school. Harry admired how effortlessly she filled the air with clear song.

"Beautiful, Pansy," praised Jenna Moon.

"Such a girl song," Tim said derisively. "If you want real hard tunes, Harry, you've got to come with me to see Wand Smasher."

"He'll go deaf from that noise," Pansy snapped back. "And plenty of boys listen to Celestina."

"Only the nancy boys," Draco added.

"Smasher is good stuff," Crabbe contributed. Neither he nor Goyle was saying much today; both boys had hit puberty, and their voices were cracking more than a broken mirror.

"You _would_ like it," Pansy tossed back.

"Hey, _I_ like Wand Smasher too," Millie Bulstrode piped up.

"It's barbaric screaming over fast guitar playing."

"So?"

Pansy threw her hands up in defeat.

"Wand Smasher is playing next month, right before we go back to school. Dad says he's too old for music that loud, but he's letting me take my own broom out. And!" Tim exclaimed with a triumphant look. "No curfew!"

Everyone gasped in amazement. Tim looked very proud of himself. It was quite a feat, no curfew, at only age thirteen.

"The show starts early," Tim said a bit more calmly, "which means it gets out early."

"Probably the only reason he's letting you go," Jenna laughed cynically.

"Probably," he admitted. "But I don't care. I get to go by myself. That's the huge part."

"Not by yourself," Harry told him. "I'm going with you. A night out with no adults? Count me in."

"Father will never let me," Draco lamented. "Unless I could get Elan to go too."

"Then Jamie would want to go," Blaise sighed. "She's still stuck on him, but he hasn't come to see her more than a handful of times since he got back from Durmstrang. I can't even talk to her any more."

"He's been around a lot more than last summer," Draco informed her. "Much less time up in his room writing lovesick letters."

"If he's going to break up with her, he should have the decency to just do it," Blaise huffed. "I hate seeing her all mopey. It was bad enough during last school year."

Jamie Zabini's moping had been tiresome for everyone who had had to deal with the girl. About the only time she had been her bubbly old self was when she'd taken over Professor Snape's Potions lecture for an afternoon.

"Well, if Father should, by some chance, allow us to go, we don't need to tell her."

"But then I won't get to go!"

"I didn't know you wanted to."

"Well maybe I do!"

"What else is going on?" Harry interrupted.

"Not much, I'm afraid," Jenna told him. "It seems all the good musicians are in a writing phase. Next summer ought to be a phenomenal time, but that's a whole year away."

"Curses," Harry said, disappointed.

"We could practice curses, if you like. But we're not supposed to do magic outside of school."

Harry groaned along with the rest of his friends. No matter the subject, Jenna always managed to get in the last word.

"Well, that rule really only is applied to students who don't come from all-magic families," Tim enlightened them all. "I imagine your father, Draco, would freak if the Ministry tried to place the detection Charms around this place."

Draco guffawed. "Oh, I can see the carnage now."

"Speaking of students and school, how's everyone coming on their homework?" Pansy wanted to know. "I haven't even started yet."

"I'm nearly done," Blaise said, to the surprise of no one. The blonde girl was one of the brightest witches in their form.

"That's disgusting," Jenna groaned. "How can you be done?"

"I've had a _curfew_ this summer," she complained. "With that Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban, my mum and dad are paranoid that he's going to come knocking."

"He wouldn't knock," Draco interjected.

"Duh. And I can't talk to Jamie any more, so there's nothing left but to get my homework done. I have no idea what I'm going to do when I finish it all."

"You could go mad," Tim suggested.

"Already half there, thanks."

Out of reflexive habit, Harry looked at his watch. "How did it get this late?" he asked rhetorically.

The others checked and began complaining. It was getting close on to supper time, and everyone had to go home. Nobody wanted to, but there was nothing for it.

"I'm not the least bit hungry," Crabbe rued.

"That's got to be a first," Draco noted.

"Not feeling well, fathead?" Tim needled him.

"My head's not fat!"

Harry decided that he ought to take a look at his homework that night. It was depressing, in a way, but it would have been dishonest to try to pretend that it didn't exist. It had to get done sooner or later, so he might as well get it out of the way. And it was well he did open his folder, because the assignment from old McGonagall was monstrous.

They would soon be learning about transfiguring larger objects. It wasn't soon enough until sixth year and Advanced Transfiguration that they would begin to learn about human transformations, which was what sounded very entertaining to Harry. "I can't wait until I can give myself a forked tongue to mouth back at the old bat," he declared. He and Draco were sitting in the Malfoy library with their books spread before them on the table.

Draco's laugh echoed down the stacks. "Oh that's priceless! What about snake eyes?"

"Even better! I wonder if Elan knows this sort of advanced magic," Harry mused.

"Of course I do," the elder Malfoy son retorted, stepping out from between the shelves.

Draco shook his head. "How does he _do_ that?"

"It's a talent," the young man replied. "Anyway, Harry, the sort of transfiguration you're talking about is pretty advanced stuff. I think it would be too dangerous for you to try. If it went wrong, it could be horrible for you. Best to wait until you're back at Hogwarts and Madam Pomfrey can fix you up if anything goes awry."

"Then I'm going to need a book to learn from."

"I'll find you a copy of my text when we head to Diagon Alley."

"Which I think might need to be soon," Draco said. "I don't think we can properly do these assignments without our new books."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I've never even heard of this Cheering Charm that Flitwick has us researching."

"I think I heard Terry mention it once, but I don't recall entirely."

"Good evening, boys," Mr. Malfoy greeted them as he strode into the library.

"Hello, Father," the brothers said, while Harry addressed the man by his courtesy.

"How goes the homework?"

"Badly," Draco said with bluntness. "We need our new books. Sinistra is calling for specific citations."

"I hadn't planned for the trip until the end of the month, but if you need the books, we can go tomorrow."

"Thank you, Father."

Since they couldn't really do their homework, they decided to look for interesting books in the shelves. Harry was immersed in _Nasty, Nasty Magical Tricks_ looking up things to do to Ronald Weasley when Draco thumped a heavy book down, causing him to jump in surprise.

"I found the pictures of Grandfather Malfoy," Draco announced.

"Look at this," Harry ignored him. "This curse can be put in any cloth object. We could put it in a coin purse and leave it for Weasley to find."

"Brill," Draco agreed. "What's it do?"

"Causes money to fall out of your hand for a week. You can't touch it at all."

"Since Weasley doesn't touch money in the first place, there's no real point in that."

"But if he ever did?" Harry asked. "He'd go mad."

"Too right. Mark that page."

"So what've you got?"

"Abraxas Elan Malfoy. This album was put together by my NaNaNe."

"Who?"

"Grandmother. Her name was Cielle, but I always called her NaNaNe. She and Grandfather both died of the dragon pox when I was three. This is their wedding picture."

"You do know he looks entirely silly in that hat?"

"You wouldn't have wanted to tell him that," Draco warned. "He was supposedly a mean old bastard."

"How can you say such a thing?"

"Elan told me."

"Why would _he_ say such a thing?"

"Because it's true," the elder Malfoy brother said, sitting down in an armchair.

"I borrowed his wand once - just to look at it, I swear."

"A likely story," Draco said.

"Maybe cast a _small_ spell. There was a rock I quite wanted to do things to, as I recall. But before I could even get out of the room, he roared like a dragon and grabbed me by my neck."

"What'd he do?" Harry was curious.

"He dragged me out to the garden and thrashed me," Elan shrugged. "It was a good one, too. I've never touched anyone's wand but my own since."

The next morning, Harry was so excited that he was the first person awake at Malfoy Manor. The sun was still half-hidden behind the hill that was the eastern edge of the estate. With so much time to spare, he claimed the shower for an hour.

The water here, like at Hogwarts, was always the perfect temperature. Deprived of any luxury by the Muggles, he'd grown to love bathing at school: being able to simply relax under the torrential spray seemed akin to Heaven. After Quidditch matches and practices, Harry would spend ages under the nozzle if he had the leisure.

Harry regretfully shut off the water when Draco pounded on the door. He towelled off thoroughly and pulled his dressing gown back on before opening the door.

Draco was standing in the corridor with an impatient attitude, but he started coughing as he got a faceful of the steam billowing out of the bathroom.

"Blimey, Harry," he gasped. "The sauna's down on the ground floor."

"It wasn't hot enough," Harry retorted. "That needs to be looked at."

Draco coughed again. "I can't see a thing."

Harry chose to ignore that comment and strode past Draco, down the hall. The fine rug was deliciously pleasant to his bare feet. He jumped across the hardwood gap between the rugs and continued on.

The day looked as though it were going to be very pleasant, so Harry decided to wear just his robes. It would probably be much too warm with both robes and trousers. He'd worn just his pants under his robes at Christmas, when hundreds of people had been packed into Parkinson Place. The heat there had been almost oppressive at times. Diagon Alley, with the sun shining directly on _black_ robes was likely to be worse.

He pulled out a sheet of parchment from his trunk and dipped one of his raven feather quills into the pot of ink on the desk. _Robes,_ he wrote. _Black wool for school._ His school robes were about an inch and a half short on his wrist now. _New hat. Green everyday. Black everyday. Something for Christmas._ He'd had to borrow dress robes for the Christmas party, and Harry wanted clothes that wouldn't squeeze his neck. He'd need white for New Year's, he realized, writing it down. There was no way he was going to have all of these ready tomorrow.

"I'll just take the everyday and let her send me the rest," he decided.

His list for school ought to be arriving this morning, he figured. In any case, the bookshop would know. _What else do I need?_

Professor Snape, who taught Harry's favourite subject, Potions, had stressed the need for the highest quality of ingredients when potionmaking. He scribbled down several things he needed to replenish. He really ought to pitch his beetle eyes, he noticed. Half of them were a slimy goo. He added doxwood and lobridoon to his list.

Regal hooted at him from his perch on top of the cage. _Owl treats,_ he scrawled. _Live mice._

What did he need in Quality Quidditch Supplies? He checked his tin of broom polish. It was nearly empty: Harry took excellent care of his prized racing broom.

The Nimbus 2000 had been as good as new when he'd gotten it back from being repaired. During his last Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, the Seeker, Cedric Diggory, had pulled a sneaky play on him, and Harry and his broom had come off second-best.

Several of the twigs in the tail were growing wild, so he included a trimming kit on his list as well. Harry wondered if any new model brooms had come out yet. He and Draco would probably waste several hours in the store.

Harry wiped off his quill and put it away. He sprinkled sand across the parchment to dry the ink and rolled it up. Tucking the scroll into a pocket of his robes, Harry turned his attention to the mirror.

As always, his thick, black hair looked absolutely wild. He picked up his comb and ran it through a few half-hearted motions. He didn't expect an effect, any more than any other time he had tried to tidy his hair. To his shock, the damp hair stayed where he put it! Harry couldn't believe it. He did it again. The hair stayed!

"Finally!" he exclaimed. He combed it forward, smoothing from the back of his head. He didn't want to risk mucking it up and looking silly. It actually looked quite decent. Harry grinned at his reflection.

Harry suddenly felt a tingling on his scalp. He scratched his temple, but it didn't go away. He was looking right in the mirror and saw clearly - his hair lifted up all on its own and smoothed toward the left!

There were no words for this situation. As he stared in the mirror, trying to make sense of what had happened, his hair lifted up again! This time it flopped to the right!

What was going on here? He looked around, wondering if Draco might be playing a trick on him. His hair rearranged itself again, and Harry turned back to see that he now had a part running down the centre of his head!

Boggled, Harry reached up and mussed his hair with both hands. He stopped and peered into the mirror with heavy breaths, waiting. His hair stayed messy.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

His wand sheath went on special loop on his robes, and Harry felt that he was properly attired. He drew out the key to his Gringott's vault and tucked it into his pocket. His moneypouch, light as it was, he tied inside. It would be full soon enough, and then well on its way to being empty again shortly after.

It was time for breakfast, and Harry hurried down to the dining room where Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were already at the table. "Good morning," he said cheerfully as he joined them.

"Good morning, Harry," Mr. Malfoy replied.

"Good morning, dear."

Elan entered the very moment he sat and immediately began loading his plate. "Mother, Father, Harry, a good morning to you."

"Good morning, son."

Harry couldn't decide which was better; the omelet or the fried potatoes. The omelet was filled with cheese and bacon, ham, sausage, onion and basil. The fried potatoes were cut into small pieces and tossed with bacon pieces, crumbled sausage, onion, and sprinkled with cheese.

"Are you ready to depart after breakfast?" Elan's father asked.

"I need to eat quick and then get in the shower when Draco's through." Elan said around a mouthful of food. He swallowed quickly and wolfed another huge bite.

"Not before noon, then, I suppose."

Harry grinned. Draco combed his hair very often, and would spend enormous quantities of time in front of a mirror if he could. It was the rare occurrence that Draco did not have a comb in the pocket of his robes.

"I'm here," Harry's best mate announced as he sat down at the table. "Hi Elan. Bye Elan."

Elan drew his wand. "_Totenmaske_!" he exclaimed, pointing the tip up to his nose.

A hideous grin began stretching across Elan's face! His eyes bulged out of their sockets, inflating to the size of softballs! His tongue swelled up, turning bright _purple_! Harry jumped in his seat at the sight.

"Elan!" Mrs. Malfoy screamed.

His face quickly returned to normal as he spoke another German word. He turned a now apologetic face to his mother. "I'm sorry, Mother. I should not have made faces at the table."

"Is that what they teach you at Durmstrang?" Mr. Malfoy asked, his tone very disdainful. He was looking at his eldest son with an irritated expression.

Elan's reply was very casual. "It's one thing of many that I've had to learn in order to gain acceptance. I managed to befriend the leader of the boys in my form, but if I was going to be one of them, I had to do what they were doing. I learned that bit of Transfiguration this one time when we ran around the castle scaring people."

"And why was this time not spent in study?"

"As I said, Father, I was establishing connections and making alliances. If I hadn't participated, that would not be possible."

"So long as it continues to pose no threat to your studies. Your marks will continue to be excellent. And if you should wind up in trouble, you-"

"It's all harmless, Father!" Elan protested in a placating voice.

"See that it stays that way."

"Yes, Father."

"Go bathe, and do not take as long as your brother. I want us to be departing in thirty minutes."

"I didn't take that long," Draco spoke up.

"This time," Harry said by way of greeting as Elan left to go upstairs.

"Hello, Harry. Good morning, Mother, Father."

"Son," they said together.

Harry couldn't help but gulp his pumpkin juice in his excitement. Soon he'd be strolling down the length of Diagon Alley! He almost wanted to go immediately and meet the Malfoys later. That was a horribly rude idea, of course.

When they were all assembled in front of the fireplace in the lounge, Harry reached for the Floo powder first. "Diagonalley!" he said hurriedly.

With a sickening jolt, Harry felt himself spinning. _I don't think I'll ever get used to travelling this way,_ he thought.

Harry felt a wave of vertigo wash over him, and he tumbled over, landing on a stone floor with a jarring thud. His glasses flew off, leaving him blinded. He groped around for them and returned them to his face.

He was alone, wherever here was. Harry knew he'd never seen this place before. The place appeared to be some sort of dimly lit wizards' shop, but Harry was certain that nothing for sale here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of playing cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the narrow, dark street Harry could see through the dirty shop window was definitely not Diagon Alley.

to be continued...


	4. The Man In The Paper

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Four - The Man In The Paper**

Harry took a deep breath. Okay, so he had taken a wrong turn in the Floo. Okay, so he didn't know where he was. Okay, so he was in a creepy wizards' shop that might as well have had a sign posted reading "Dark Arts Supply." He would just have to get himself out of here.

A stooping man with greasy hair hanging in his face came walking out from the back to man the counter. "Yes? Oh. No children without parents, thank you."

"I go where I like," Harry said contrarily, doing his best to imitate Draco's cool demeanour. That was good, act like he'd come in here on purpose.

"Do you now?" the greasy man questioned in a voice just as oily.

Harry gave the man his best Professor Snape stare. "I do."

The man bowed in acquiescence. "Very good, young master. How can Borgin help you today?"

With his impulsive statement that he went where he liked, Harry had trapped himself. Harry had no idea what one asked for in a Dark Arts shop. He didn't even know enough to take a guess. He chose to keep his hard stare on the man, Borgin.

Borgin seemed quite nervous now. He was obviously unused to young patrons in his shop, and Harry's attitude was clearly unsettling to him. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead.

Harry pointed imperiously to the withered hand on the cushion. "Tell me about this."

"The Hand of Glory, young sir. Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder. Best friend of thieves and plunderers. Fine item, very fine."

Harry made no comment, though he filed the information away for future use. A Hand of Glory would be just the thing for sneaking around the school. He glanced at a long coil of hangman's rope, but a magnificent opal necklace glittering on a wooden torso looked extremely interesting. A small sign read, _Caution: Cursed - Has claimed the lives of nineteen Muggle owners to date._

"I don't think much of your shop," Harry said to break the silence. "For all I've heard about it, I expected more." That was a bold-faced lie; Harry still had no idea what shop he was in.

"My best wares are not on display, young sir," Borgin bristled. "Were I to know the general direction of your inquiry, I could be of more assistance. Can I show you some knives? Perhaps you need an obsidian wand?"

"Poisons." He blurted the first thing that came into his head.

"Yes, I have the finest selection in England. Allow me to fetch my lists."

As the man turned to rummage through a drawer, Harry gave serious thought to bolting like a rabbit. He glanced at the door, but before he could move it opened! A small bell clanged, announcing the new customer - Lucius Malfoy!

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been found!

"Ah, Mister Malfoy, do come in. I was merely answering the idle inquiries of this boy."

"Mister Borgin," Mr. Malfoy said urbanely. "Do speak of my young friend with more respect."

Borgin coughed. "No offense meant, sirs, no offense."

"We must speak soon, Borgin, but I have other business to attend to at the moment."

"Always a pleasure, Mister Malfoy."

Harry followed the older man out into the dingy alleyway. The whole place seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he'd just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest, but just opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads. Two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders.

"Where are we?" Harry asked quietly.

"Knockturn Alley," Mr. Malfoy answered just as quietly. "This is a place where people don't ask questions."

They passed in front of a shop selling poisonous candles. What appeared to be a hag was standing in the shadows holding a tray, the contents of which were probably better left unidentified.

"What happened? How did I get here?"

"I suspect that you spoke your destination too hastily. You went one too far and landed in Borgin's shop."

"How did you know where to find me?"

Mr. Malfoy smiled. "Borgin and I do quite a bit of business. It is fortunate that he didn't throw you out. Some of the denizens of this place would be all too glad to do you harm."

"He tried," Harry admitted. "But I stared him down."

Mr. Malfoy chuckled. "Well done."

Harry could see the pillars of Gringotts Bank just up ahead. He resisted the urge to run towards the light, to leave this dim and dirty place behind. Instead, he walked calmly beside Mr. Malfoy to where Mrs. Malfoy waited with Draco and Elan.

"Harry, you're okay!"

"It's only a dirty alley loaded with Dark Arts shops, Draco," Harry deadpanned. "Nothing to worry over."

"That's funny." From Draco's tone, he didn't think it funny.

As they climbed the steps of Gringotts, Harry noticed a rather large poster pasted on the pillars. It featured the man from the front page of the _Daily Prophet_, Sirius Black. His eyes burned angrily from sunken wells in his face, from under his long, matted hair. Harry shivered, though the day was, as he had suspected, very warm.

**WANTED!**

**Sirius Black**

**Escaped from Azkaban Prison**

**Extremely Dangerous!**

The queue was surprisingly empty, so they stepped right up to the first counter. Mr. Malfoy placed a golden key on the counter. "Lucius Malfoy, vault six hundred nine."

"Harry Potter, vault six-eight-seven, please," Harry said, laying his key beside it.

The goblin inspected both keys carefully before handing them back. "Griphook, take them down."

Harry took his seat in the cart with trepedation. The awful Gringotts carts were more than dizzying enough to help one throw up all over the place. It hadn't happened to Harry yet, but it had been close.

Only Mr. Malfoy got into the cart with him. "Narcissa, please take the boys to Madam Malkin's. We're going to occupy quite a bit of her time today, I believe. Best to start early. We'll be along soon."

"As you wish, Lucius."

The cart started to roll, and so did Harry's stomach. He held on for his dignity as the awful cart flew down the metal rails with a vicious speed. They screeched to a halt, and Harry collapsed against the side. All he could do for a moment was breathe and pray.

"Six-oh-nine." Griphook took the key from Mr. Malfoy and unlocked the vault. The contents of the vault made Harry's eyes bug out of his head. Gold Galleons and silver Sickles were stacked in huge columns. Bars of solid gold and a brighter, silvery metal were criss-crossed in the corners. Gemstones of a hundred colours sparkled in the torchlight. It was wealth beyond conception.

"Wow," was all Harry could think to say.

"Generations of careful attention to detail," Mr. Malfoy told him. "There are many who would try to take it from us."

Mr. Malfoy removed a black velvet pouch with a silver drawstring from his pocket. With a wave of his wand, a small mountain of coins disappeared into the pouch. Though it seemed no fuller, Mr. Malfoy put his moneybag back into his robes.

Harry's wealth, the grand piles of money he'd once thought so enormous, had grown even more in the last year. He dumped out the coins he still carried, throwing the silver and bronze into respective piles. He took only Galleons.

When they got back up to street level, Harry was glad for the fresh air and sunshine. Nifty as it might be to get to one's money by taking a barely controlled ride in a goblin-driven cart, there were no visible safety precautions in place. It was something Harry was glad he only had to do about once a year.

The first place he wanted to go was Quality Quidditch Supplies. If he was going to waste time, he intended to do it early. He was practically running in order to keep up with Mr. Malfoy's long strides, and his face dropped when he saw the huge crowd gathered around the shop.

Mr. Malfoy smiled down sympathetically at Harry as they walked by. "Not to worry. I'm sure you'll get your chance."

"I _want_ to go, but I also need to buy things in there," Harry replied.

Getting new robes was a tedious affair, involving much standing still and being told not to fidget. Harry's fittings alone took nearly an hour, and there was quite a line when he and the Malfoys were finished their business. Harry arranged for his robes to be sent by owl, and gladly gave up his place on the stool to the next boy in line, whose mother kept saying, "Wesley, be patient."

Draco was just as eager to go off on their own as Harry was, but Mr. Malfoy was hearing none of it. "If you hadn't noticed, boys, there's an escaped maniac on the loose. It would be foolhardy to allow you to roam unprotected."

"But Father-"

"Draco, is it possible for you to obey me just once without this babyish protesting?" Mr. Malfoy demanded. "I am your father, and you will do as I say. You'll be a man soon. Act like it."

Draco paused to think before he spoke. "Yes, Father," he said contritely.

Mr. Malfoy was not the only parent keeping a close watch on his children. Everywhere Harry looked, groups of students had several adults hovering nearby. Harry saw dozens of those Wanted posters pasted everywhere. He almost walked right past the Apothecary, wallpapered as it was with pictures of Sirius Black.

Once inside, Harry made sure to select only the most perfect specimens. Professor Snape, the Potions Master, had told them countless times that the quality of the potion was reflective of the ingredients, and Harry valued the man's opinion. Draco finally had to drag him away from a display of live spiders that Harry had no practical use for, but still thought would be neat to have - just in case.

"Where to now?" Harry asked, still trying to justify purchasing a few great, hairy spiders.

"Flourish and Blotts. We're in luck; it's not very busy."

Instead of the usual display of gold-embossed spellbooks the size of paving slabs in the bookshop's front window, there was a large iron cage behind the glass that held about a hundred books that seemed to be alive! Even more strange, the books appeared to be ill-tempered! Torn pages were flying everywhere as the books grappled with each other, locked together in furious wrestling matches and snapping aggressively.

"What the deuce are those?" he asked.

"Books."

"Shut up, Draco."

"Attack books? Specially trained?"

"Shut _up_, Draco."

As they stepped through the doors, the manager came hurrying towards them. "Hogwarts?" he asked abruptly. "Come to get your new books?"

"Yes, we need-"

"Get out of the way," the man said impatiently, brushing them aside. He pulled on a pair of very thick gloves, picked up a large, knobbly walking stick, and headed toward the door of the iron cage.

"Hang about," Draco said. "What book is that? I really hope we don't need it."

"It's _The Monster Book of Monsters_."

"Not on my list," said Harry, checking.

"Nor mine."

"Thank heavens!" the manager exclaimed as a look of enormous relief spread over his face. "I've been bitten five times already this morning, and-"

A loud ripping noise rent the air; two of the _Monster Books_ had seized another and were pulling it apart.

"No! No! Stop! Stop it!" cried the manager, poking the walking stick through the bars and knocking the books apart. "I'm never stocking these again, never! It's been pure chaos! I lost at least ten before selling one!"

"Take a deep breath, Flourish," Mr. Malfoy advised. He handed the man a gold coin. "Drinks are on me, tonight."

"You're a kind man, Mister Malfoy. What can I help you with today, then?"

"We both need _Intermediate Transfiguration, The Standard Book of Spells - Grade Three, Intermediate Astronomy, A Beginner's Guide to Arithmancy,_ and _Decyphering Runic Structures_." Harry was very curious to see his book for Ancient Runes.

"Right this way, then."

With a bag full of books each, the boys led on to Eeylop's Owl Emporium. A large box of owl treats each for Arlette and Regal was added to their purchases, and Harry bought a half-dozen live white mice as well. Now they were finally done with the necessary bits and could head to Quality Quidditch Supplies!

The crowd was still milling around in front of the shop. Harry and Draco pushed through the throng, wondering what could possibly be so interesting. It hadn't been this crowded when the Nimbus 2000 had been displayed in the window. Now a new broom rested in the place of honour.

"Just come out - fastest broom in the world - prototype -" came fragments of conversation through the hubbub.

"Irish International bought seven," another wizard said with certainty.

The broom was magnificent. The curvy handle was polished to such a brightness that it was blinding. The tail twigs looked too perfect to be made of wood. A strange metal bit was also attached, a place to rest one's foot; Harry had never seen anything like it before.

The Firebolt

This state-of-the-art racing broom sports a streamlined, superfine handle of ash, treated with a diamond-hard polish and hand-numbered with its own registration number. Each individually selected birch twig in the broomtail has been honed to aerodynamic perfection, giving the Firebolt unsurpassable balance and pin-point precision. The Firebolt has an acceleration of 240 kilometres per hour in ten seconds and incorporates an unbreakable Braking Charm. Price on request.

Harry was practically drooling over the Firebolt, and Draco wasn't much better. He didn't want to think about how much the broom cost. "Price on request" was a euphemism for "Far too much money".

Inside, Harry purchased his polish and the trimming kit. The only new book he could find was about Keeper tactics, so Harry skipped it. His eyes were drawn, time and again, to the awe-inspiring Firebolt. Finally he could stand wondering no longer.

"How much is that Firebolt in the window?" Harry asked, afraid of the answer.

"Five hundred, twenty-seven Galleons," the manager informed him.

That was a staggering amount of money. All of Harry's supplies two years ago, when he had spent the most, had barely come to twenty-seven Galleons. Even Mr. Malfoy, with the uncountable Malfoy wealth, winced at the pronouncement. Harry had a perfectly good broom; the Nimbus 2000 had been top-notch only two years ago and was still the best broom at Hogwarts. Still...

Harry opened his money pouch, even though he knew there wasn't nearly enough inside. He looked at the Firebolt, feeling a deep yearning to whip through the air at two-forty.

"Harry, you're not considering?" Draco asked.

"I am."

"It's too much!"

"I need speed."

"You already thrash the other teams."

"It's the best. I want the best." Harry turned to the manager. "I need to go get more money. I will be back."

With Draco right behind him, Harry quick-stepped up Diagon Alley. His stomach roiled as he realized the crux of his current dilemna: if he wanted the Firebolt, he needed to go back to Gringotts and ride the cart again.

"Harry, what's wrong? You just turned green." Draco sounded very concerned.

"Up Slytherin," he joked weakly.

"I'm serious!"

"I don't want to go on the cart!"

"So forget it."

"I can't. I won't sleep at night."

Harry did not manage to keep his stomach this time around. Too much jolting motion in too short a timespan finally did him in, and as they screamed to a halt in front of his vault, Harry was leaned over the side, heaving his guts out. There he remained while the goblin opened the vault. Harry wiped bile away with the back of his hand and began stuffing as many Galleons as he could fit into his purse. Draco loitered outside the vault while Harry was busy.

"You are taking a very large amount of money, sir," the goblin, Griphook again, said to him.

"Yes. I need to buy something very expensive."

"Sir could take out a promisory note."

Harry stopped in his tracks, a handful of Galleons clanging to the floor. "A what?"

"The bosses can write you a promisory note for any amount. Parchment is charmed, you see; cannot be faked. Is good anywhere in the world."

"Draco!" Harry yelled.

"What?"

"Why didn't you tell me I could write a cheque!"

"A what?"

"A note, or whatever it's called. Why didn't you tell me I didn't need to come down here again?"

"I thought it would be funny. And I was right!" Draco laughed. "Wait until I tell the others how much you puked!"

Harry didn't waste anymore words. He dove at Draco, tackling him to the ground. The two boys wrestled around for a few minutes before the goblin coughed politely.

"Git," Harry panted. "You manky, instigating git!"

Draco was laughing too hard to respond. He continued laughing as Harry spilled out half of his moneypouch onto the floor and kicked the coins in the general direction of the loose piles.

Harry turned to glare at his best mate. "Keep laughing, Draco. I'll leave you down here."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me, funny man," Harry challenged. He headed back towards the cart - the awful cart - and swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Thankfully, with his breakfast scattered through the depths of Gringotts, he had nothing more to eject from his stomach.

Getting the promisory note took only a few minutes longer. Harry merely told the goblin at the counter how much it needed to be for, and the creature scurried into the back, returning several moments later with the parchment in hand.

"The bosses thank you for choosing Gringotts."

Harry still felt queasy, so he didn't run back to Quality Quidditch Supplies. He settled for a brisk walk instead. The crowd had thinned slightly, but it was still an effort for Harry and Draco to push through. His guts were churning as he stepped up to the counter to make the most expensive purchase ever - and for a good long while, too!

"I'll buy that Firebolt now." In his nervousness, he spoke too loudly and his voice cracked.

The noise of the crowd died away, and Harry felt all eyes on him. He stared directly at the shop manager as he laid the promisory note down on the counter.

The manager picked it up and held it out at a distance. His eyes scanned the page, and he made quiet affirming noises. Harry watched him anxiously, knowing in his head that the note was good, but fearing in his heart that something had gone wrong. This was Harry's first time using such an adult thing as a promissory note.

With a flourish, the manager rolled the parchment into a scroll and wrapped a ribbon around it. The scroll disappeared into a pocket of his robes, and the man shook his keys out as he moved towards the front window.

The smaller crowd inside parted to let him through. The lock opened with a loud click, and light gleaming off the Firebolt's diamond-hard shine spilled into the room. The manager carefully removed the broom from the display and placed it in a cushioned, hard-shell case. The larger crowd outside began to shout in amazement, and one of the assistants wisely shut the front door before they could rush inside.

Harry took the case reverently. He was now the owner of the most superb racing broom in the entire world. Harry felt himself grinning. "Wicked," was all he could think to say.

Draco was now suitably sober, and his expression was awed. "Blimey, Harry, I mean, blow me down. I don't believe you actually did it."

"Why wouldn't I? I think one ought to insist upon the best. Isn't that what Slytherin is all about?"

"The best of yourself, Harry, not material goods in themselves," Mrs. Malfoy interjected.

"Boys and their toys," Mr. Malfoy spoke neutrally.

"You've got plenty of expensive toys, Lucius. At least be supportive."

"Do we need anything else here?"

"I already got a tin of polish," Harry remembered, "and a trimming kit."

"You _needed_ those things," Draco said wryly. "Not anymore."

With their purchases made, Harry and the Malfoys left the shop. It was very conspicuous, leaving with the large, broom-sized case, and more than a few dirty looks were directed his way. Harry held his chin high as he moved through the crowd, ignoring them all.

"Where's Elan?" Draco asked. The elder Malfoy brother had gone his own way after Madam Malkin's. With all the excitement, Harry hadn't stopped to wonder what the former Hogwarts prefect had been doing.

"He's right there," Mr. Malfoy told him, nodding across the street. "It appears he's found young Percy."

The cousins were both in black, despite the warmth of the day. Harry went right up to Percy and put down all his packages except the Firebolt.

"Percy!" he exclaimed, offering his hand. "Good to see you!"

"Harry! How have you been?"

"Smashing!"

"What have you got there in such a tight grip?"

"My new broom."

"He bought the Firebolt!" Draco exclaimed.

"What!" Both Elan and Percy had identical, shocked expressions.

"Disgusting, isn't it?"

"Not as disgusting as the price," Harry grumbled. "Lay off."

"Percy, very good to see you."

"Mister Malfoy, sir."

"How've you been, Percy?" Harry was curious.

"I'm getting by," the prefect said with a thin smile. "Mum and Dad didn't _quite_ throw me out of the house, but my brothers certainly let their feelings be known. I thought it was in everyone's best interest to move out."

"Where are you living now?"

"I can't afford my own place quite yet, even though I've been working a lot of hours at the Ministry. My intership doesn't _over_pay me. I've been staying with Sam and Lawrence."

"Still snogging with Lynn?" Elan asked slyly.

Percy started to flush. "A bit. Jamie?"

"You've been snogging Jamie too?"

Percy flushed some more. "Certainly not!"

"She's not a bad kisser."

"Elan, don't be vulgar," Mrs. Malfoy reprimanded.

"Yes, Mother."

"I have to be going now," Percy excused himself. "Lynn and I are having dinner together tonight."

"Go make yourself handsome, cousin," Elan said encouragingly. "Give Lynn my best."

"I will. Cheers, all."

"Cheers, Percy," Harry responded.

That night, after dinner, Harry and Draco were situated in the library, hard at work on their summer assignments. Professor Sinistra's task of charting the progress of a comet through the first two weeks of August seemed particularly sinister. They had to find the comet and identify it based on the path as it passed through the various constallations. It was an ornerous project.

"I should have bought that perfect model of the galaxy," Harry said aloud.

"The moving one in the big glass ball? That thing was _very_ impressive," Draco agreed.

"We'd never have to take another Astronomy lesson."

"Now that's the best idea you've had in hours."

"Right behind buying the Firebolt, I'm sure."

"You just will not shut up about it, will you?" Harry had been talking of little other than his new racing broom.

"I can't _help_ it!" Harry exclaimed. "I've flown in God-awful weather conditions; I can handle a bit of darkness!" By the time they had all returned to Malfoy Manor and washed and eaten, it had been deemed too late for the boys to be outside. Harry had been sorely disappointed when told he couldn't try out his Firebolt until tomorrow.

"It's not just the daylight, you know," Draco said casually, tracing down the page with his finger. "There's also the mad Sirius Black on the loose."

"You don't sound like you're worried. Didn't he kill a bunch of people?"

"Muggles," Draco sniffed. "One wizard, to be sure, but Father tells me that he was quite pathetic."

"So why is the Malfoy family worried? You're certainly not even close to Muggles."

"Well he did sort of spend twelve years in Azkaban," Draco pointed out. "He's got to be completely homicidal by now. He might turn on those whom he was once close to."

Once close to? "What?"

"We're not supposed to speak of it," Draco lowered his voice.

"So don't speak of it, Draco," interrupted Elan, walking out from the stacks.

Draco shook his head. "Stop doing that!"

"What are you telling Harry that you shouldn't?"

"I was about to tell him about Cousin Sirius."

"Cousin!"

"Subtle, Draco, very subtle." Elan sneered.

"Well if you wouldn't keep poking in-"

"Hey! Cousin?" Harry didn't let their sibling banter sidetrack the discussion.

"Mother's cousin, to be precise. She was a Black before she married Father. Here, let me get the family tree."

Draco went over to the window and began dragging over a potted _Dracaena sanderiana_. Harry watched quizzically, and Elan slipped silently out of the library. Draco pulled the plant to the table and went to a shelf and retrieved a large scroll. He pinned the top of the scroll to the bamboo and unrolled it, fastening the bottom as well.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

"This is the family tree. Mother has one sister, and Cousin Sirius had one brother, Regulus. Mother's father was Cygnus Black, and Cousin Sirius' mother was Walburga Black. Cygnus and Walburga were brother and sister."

The Black family was very extensive and very old. Harry traced along the branches with interest. In branches far back, Harry recognized a few names of his fellow Slytherins. He saw Nott, Goodewinter, Parkins, Malfoy, Bulstrode, and even one Black that had married into the Potter family!

"He's my cousin too!"

"And so am I!" Draco exclaimed.

Harry felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. The Durlseys had never been family to him. Not remembering his parents, Harry had always felt alone in the world. That had all changed. It was three generations back before the joining of the respective branches of the Black family tree, and who knew how far back Harry would have to look in order to determine his relationship to Charlus Potter, but he had a blood connection to someone at last!

He stood up, still feeling woozy. He grabbed Draco by the shoulders. "Cousin!" he gasped.

Draco embraced him in a strong hug. "Cousin!" he said in a voice thick with sentiment.

A couple of seconds later the embrace broke apart, each bloke trying to cover his momentary lapse of composure. Harry coughed several times. Draco shuffled his feet.

"The things you learn," Harry said. "I guess books are good for something after all."

"Yes, we ought to get back to this rubbish assignment."

Elan chose that moment to reappear and interject. "You keep at it. Harry, Father would like to see you in his office, if you could spare a few minutes."

Harry gladly put down his quill, which he hadn't yet had a chance to dip in fresh ink. "Write the rest of that for me, would you, Draco?"

"I'd rather be buggered."

Elan's laughter followed Harry as he made his way up to Mr. Malfoy's office on the second floor. At the top of the stairs he turned left and knocked on the door. His fist barely made any noise rapping on the heavy oak. Still, he heard a voice clearly saying, "Enter!"

Harry had been in here once before and been suitably impressed. It was a room with a large desk, a large comfy armchair, portraits on the wall, and lots of interesting things on the shelves: dozens and dozens of books, portraits, masks, jewelry, vials of strange liquids, boxes, and plants. One of the rings glinted in the sunlight. It was a plain gold ring with a blue stone at the centre and strange letters written around it. They shined so, like the sun had specifically chosen to shine upon it.

"Harry, look away!" Mr. Malfoy said sharply.

He wanted to touch that ring in the worst way. He reached out a hand. He was so close!

"_Immobulus!_" Harry's muscles locked in place! He couldn't move!

Mr. Malfoy stepped between Harry and the wonderful ring. He leaned down to look Harry directly in the eye. "You are fortunate to not have lost a finger, Harry. It is one of the Rings of Solomon, and it is dangerous beyond measure."

Harry wanted to say something, but he still couldn't move.

"_Finite incantatem!_" His muscles relaxed, though he felt as though he'd had a thorough bout of exercise.

"Why did I want to touch it so badly?"

"It's part of the magic. You need to know the proper spell in order to handle it. Then it is a potent artefact indeed!"

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Harry. Elan informs me that Draco has told you about Sirius Black and his connection to this family."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Malfoy's face grew very sombre. "What he probably did not tell you is going to be difficult for you to hear, Harry. I warn you now, it is awful. I leave the choice to you."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

"There is a great deal to the story of Sirius Black, and it involves you intimately. I can give you this knowledge, but I fear that the knowing will severely affect you. I cannot make this choice for you. It must be yours."

This was all very mysterious, and Harry was tired of mystery. He wanted everything to be neat, tidy, and discussed in the King's English. "Tell me."

"Sirius Black betrayed his family, was disowned. He found a new home in Gryffindor. He was very close to your father."

"My father!"

Mr. Malfoy nodded. "James Potter and Sirius Black were the closest of friends at Hogwarts; Professor Snape knew them better than I, but something changed after they left school. When your parents went into hiding, Black was the only person who knew where they were. He betrayed them to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

A dry wheeze escaped from Harry's throat. He felt like he'd been sucker-punched in the gut. He gasped for air, grabbing the arm of the chair. Black had betrayed his parents!

"He was their friend!" he cried. Harry couldn't believe that a friend would do such a thing. He would never betray his own mates, no matter what. They meant too much to him; he would sooner die. How this Black, this coward, had sunk so low was unfathomable.

Harry felt tears running down his face. It always happened when he thought hard about his parents and how they had died. The tears were part saddness, part firm resolve to avenge them. Now they were tears of anger.

"If he betrayed them, then he was a Death Eater. Did you know about him?"

That question startled Mr. Malfoy, judging from the expression on his face. "If Black was a Death Eater, then he was so secret that I didn't know about it. Not uncommon with _him_. Information was on a need-to-know basis. He kept that plan a secret."

This was all coming way too roughly for Harry. He sat down in the chair and took a deep breath.

"Harry, I'm sorry I had to tell you this. It's not something a boy ought to be concerned with. But Black is out there somewhere. He is the first man to ever escape from Azkaban prison, and he eluded the Dementors to do so. Black is certainly crazed, and I believe that he is going to try to do you harm. Perhaps he will try to finish his master's work, or he might have delusions that killing you will bring the Dark Lord back; I don't know for a surety. But his sleep was troubled shortly before he escaped, so I have learned. He muttered in his dreams, 'He's at Hogwarts. He's at Hogwarts.'"

Chills were running through Harry's mind. The man who had betrayed his father and mother was on the loose, perhaps hunting down Harry to kill him. He felt a twinge of fear. Thirteen people with a single curse, he remembered. That emotion he shoved away with a firm thought, _He betrayed my family. I don't care what it takes, I'm going to see him destroyed._

Of course he didn't know how he was going to do that precisely, but he would just have to figure it out.

Mr. Malfoy was watching him intently. "Now the Ministry has trained professionals on the hunt for Black. Unfortunately the number of Hit Wizards is very low compared to the vastness that must be searched. Tips on his location come in all day long, most of them falsified. He arranges it, you see, to tie up our resources. Black is a very clever individual, and it's that trait I would advise you to keep in mind. Most of all, I want you to promise me that you won't go looking for Black."

"Why would I do that?" Harry asked automatically; he'd been thinking exactly that.

"Vengeance," Mr. Malfoy said intensely. "But a thirteen year old wizard is not about to kill a powerful magic user like Black. I implore you to stay at Hogwarts where it is safe and let the Ministry do its inefficient job. Professor Snape will ensure that no harm comes to any of you."

"Very well," Harry reluctantly agreed. "But what about Hogsmeade? I won't be left out of going to Hogsmeade Village." The only all-wizarding community in Britain was allowed to be visited on certain weekends through the school year by students in third year and above provided they had a signed permission slip. "And that reminds me, I have to have a signed form."

"There will be no Hogsmeade Village, I'm afraid. I am not your legal guardian, so I cannot sign the form. Additionally, even were I authorized to sign, I would not do so. Black is too dangerous to take needless chances. It's an inconvenience, I know, but your life is more valuable than anything you can buy in a shop. If you must have something, give the money to one of the others. Though I daresay a few of them will find themselves in the same predicament."

Harry knew from the sternness of Mr. Malfoy's voice that there was no appealing this decision. He scowled, not happy at all. "So long as I'm not the only one, I guess I can tolerate it."

He walked out of the office, knowing that if he got much more "enlightenment" he would hex somebody. He didn't remember ending up out by the fountain, but as he stared into the bubbling waters a firm resolve was building in his heart.

"One way or another, I am going to destroy you, Sirius Black," Harry vowed to the night. He knew Black couldn't hear him, but Harry felt better for having warned the evil wizard. When the time came, there would probably be little time for words. Harry would need to destory Black quickly, before the clever wizard could turn things around.

"I don't care what it takes. You will pay for betraying my family."

to be continued...


	5. That's The Way It Goes

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Five - That's The Way It Goes At These Rock N' Roll Shows**

Harry didn't sleep well that night. His dreams were haunted by visions of the insane Sirius Black from the wanted posters kneeling before Voldemort. The traitor offered up the location of Lily and James Potter and laughed with his master as they plotted murder. He slept so poorly that he didn't understand Draco's enthusiastic wake-up call.

"Get up, lazybones! You turn in early without saying a word to me, and now I have to drag you out of bed? Get up! That Firebolt won't ride itself!"

"It might," Harry mumbled. "It cost enough."

"He's awake enough to be funny. That's a start."

Then things clicked in Harry's brain. "The Firebolt!"

"_That's_ what I wanted to see! Good morning!"

"Good morning!"

Harry threw himself through his morning routine in record time. He unlocked the closet, took out the hardwood case, and gently laid it on the bed. With anxious fingers, he undid the lock and opened the lid.

It was fleeting, but Harry swore he saw a few gleams of light shine off the polished handle. With awe, he lifted the Firebolt out with two hands. It felt firm, solid in his grasp. He kept his eyes on it, absently opening the door out onto the small terrace.

Harry swung a leg over the broom. He braced his right foot in the metal support. Holding onto for what he was sure would be the most exciting experience he'd ever had, he kicked off and leaned forward.

"Wooo-" his shout of amazement was torn from his mouth by the wind. His hair was whipping around at the back of his head. His fingers clamped tightly around the shaft, for he could feel it trying to pull away. He understood now the need for the foot brace.

His take-off had carried him up above the top of Malfoy Manor. Now he leaned low over the handle of his broom and looped around to flash across the second floor plane.

"Hey!" he yelled as he flew past Draco, who was standing on the terrace looking extremely jealous.

Harry arched into the sky, exulting in the sheer joy of fast flight. Higher and higher he flew, feeling the air getting colder. He went so far up that frost was forming on his tail twigs and stars were dancing in front of his eyes. He daringly took both hands off the handle, raised them to heaven, and posed - just for a second or two - then tipped forward, pointing straight down!

The land below looked so small. Harry marvelled at the beauty of the country. He could see the entire island of Great Britain and parts of the continent as well. The ground rushed up at him with immediacy, and when he saw Malfoy Manor approaching, he hauled back a bit on the Firebolt. With a flourish, he made a perfect hovering stop right in front of Draco's wide eyes.

His blond friend was speechless, a rare condition. His mouth sort of hung slack, like a halfwit. Finally he managed to gasp, "Blimey!"

Harry's breathing was still out of control. He sucked in great gulps of air, wheezing it back out almost instantly. His heart was pounding so fast he thought it might burst. By Merlin, what a rush!

Harry checked himself one final time in the mirror. He had gotten his new everyday robes from Madam Malkin's just the day before. He'd spent a great deal of time trying on each garment. The seamstress made very fine robes; Harry was pleased. He'd admired himself so long that even the encouraging spell laid on the glass was growing irritated with him.

Tim had advised him that black would be a good colour to wear. Millie had jokingly suggested that he wear his Quidditch leathers as well. Harry had laughed, but Tim had liked the idea so much that he appropriated it - and Harry's gear as well!

Draco was waiting for him in the sitting room. "I can't believe Father won't let me go."

"He didn't say that. You just couldn't convince Elan to chaperone you."

"The great pillock," Draco scoffed. "I'll fix him, never fear."

"Be careful," Harry cautioned. He shouldered his overnight bag.

"I will. You'd best be off if you're going to get there on time."

"Casa de Nott," Harry said as he threw his Floo powder and stepped into the green flames.

Millie was already waiting with Tim, who looked very fierce in his get-up. "Good, you're early! Let's go!"

"Apple barn on wayside!"

The trip through the Floo was horrendous for Harry, as it always was. He fought back wooziness as he stumbled out of the very large fireplace. Tim, by contrast, was grinning broadly and lent Harry a steady hand. "Let's get something cold to drink. You'll feel better."

The large circular barn to which they'd come was heavily renovated. Large speakers and tracks of lighting ran along all the walls. A stage was set up in the centre. Seating areas were scattered around the edges, with lots of dance floor in the space leading up to the stage. Two expansive bars were on either side of the barn.

The place was a pleasantly unfolding chaos, as young people milled around, colliding, spilling drinks, and talking very loud. The crowd was young, with nobody older than he might have seen at Hogwarts. In fact Harry recognized a few students here and there, but nobody he could say he knew. Harry couldn't spot anybody who appeared to be younger than him, either. He grinned. They were out with the older kids!

"When does the music start?" Harry asked Millie, who was admiring the size of the speaker.

"We're early," she replied. "Probably another few minutes yet."

"Harry! Hi, Harry!"

Hearing his name called, he turned and saw Padma Patil and her twin sister Parvati moving through the crowd towards him. The girls were in Harry's form at Hogwarts, though neither was in Slytherin. Padma was a Ravenclaw, while Parvati was in Gryffindor.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, very surprised to see them. "What are you doing here?"

"We're ready to rock!" Parvati clapped her hands. "I've been waiting for this all summer."

"Padma?"

"Well, Parvati wanted this more than anything for her birthday present, but Mum and Dad absolutely refuse to hear any music other than their own. They would never go to a concert. So they said that Parvati could go if I went with her. As you see, here we are."

"Happy birthday to you both," Harry said at once.

"You're quite the enthusiast, Nott," Parvati said by way of greeting. "Where'd you steal the Quidditch gear?"

"Harry loaned it to me. I couldn't talk him into wearing it."

"And thank Merlin for that," Padma said slyly. "It would be too strange to see him in all that without the green and silver."

"I do love my green," Harry admitted.

"Where's Parkinson?" Parvati asked. "Does the loud noise frighten her?"

"It does," Tim nodded. "It's one of her lesser qualities."

"Don't badmouth Pansy to the Gryffindor," Millie admonished him with a laugh.

"Yes, leave that to me," Parvati snickered. "We all know how I feel about that-"

"Harry doesn't," Tim pointed out.

"Well you don't seem to be the _best_ of friends," Harry said dryly. Their history went back beyond Hogwarts, he knew, both girls with blood as pure as their malice toward each other.

"We used to play over at Pansy's house when we were small," Padma said to Harry. "Her mother invited ours over sometimes, and we'd get dragged along. It was usually a decent time; very entertaining to watch Parvati and Pansy try to kill each other. Then in our Etiquette lessons, they had to be excruciatingly polite to each other."

"Did she throw rocks at you too?" Tim inquired of Parvati.

"Until I got her in the face with a clod of dung," she giggled.

"Is that where her potty mouth comes from?" Millie laughed.

"It must be," Parvati declared. "There's no other logic for it, given her breeding."

"So where are you girls sitting?" Harry asked.

"Who said anything about sitting?" Parvati replied. "I'm going to be up against the speaker all night."

"Now that's an excellent idea," Tim complimented her.

"When she's not trying to rush the stage," Padma chimed in.

"When is it going to _start_?" her sister asked impatiently.

"When the band is ready," Harry answered snarkily.

Padma laughed. "He's got you there, sis."

"He's a clever one, all right."

Just then there was a thunderous detonation! Plumes of smoke rose from the stage as five people materialized out of thin air. Seconds later a guitar chord reverberated from the speakers. The crowd began to whoop and shout as the show began!

Pansy had been quite correct in her assessment of Wand Smasher as garbled words screamed over fast guitar. The drums were also played at a frenzied pace. The frontman, the singer, looked as though his tongue would fall out of his mouth whenever he sang a long note. Harry thought it was all absolutely wonderful.

When their first song finished, the cheers rang loudly through the apple barn. The band members all bowed deeply, and Harry joined in with the applause.

"Thank you!" the singer said, not a bit out of breath. "We're glad teh be back here at the ol' apple barn. This next song you may know. It's a story about a boy who liked two girls and couldn't figure out which one he wanted. It's called 'Spinning Dizzy'."

The opening chords were slower, more sombre. Harry could actually understand the words to this song. He listened as the story unfolded about the young boy whose heart was torn by his two loves, equal in every respect. Every time he thought he had made a choice, something happened to unmake it, and the poor boy fell into despair. Finally he could bear it no more and cursed himself into the form of a dolphin to live out the rest of his days beneath the waves. But one girl loved him enough to follow him, and the pair swam together in a happy ever after.

Padma was wiping away a tear at the end of the song. "That was just beautiful," she sighed.

"Play something harder!" Parvati shouted out as the applause died down.

"Yes, ma'am," the singer nodded. "Would yeh like teh hear - 'Smash, Break, an Burn'?"

Parvati's scream mixed in with those of the rest of the crowd as the bass guitar started thrumming a rapid line of notes. Then the drums kicked in, setting the tempo. When the lead guitar finally joined the song, Harry was caught up in the sheer momentum of it all, and he whooped along with the rest.

Tim, Millie, and Parvati melted into the throng in front of the stage, rocking out on the dance floor for all they were worth. Harry was left standing with Padma, who seemed to be enjoying the music as much as he was.

When the song was over, Harry needed something to drink, and while he could still be heard, he leaned over to ask Padma, "Thirsty?"

"Yes. It is a bit warm in here." That was an understatement. With so many bodies filling the apple barn, even with the high ceiling the heat was stifling. Harry shoved his way through to the bar.

"What'll it be?"

"I'll have a large pumpkin juice," Padma told the bartender.

"The same," Harry added. He laid a silver Sickle on the bar and took his change. "Cheers!"

Both of them drank deeply from their glasses and tried to get back towards where they'd been standing before. It was clearly going to be impossible; far too many people moving around swept the pair towards the large double doors that had been opened to get some cooler air circulating.

"Well this is nice," Harry commented as they ended up outside.

"A pleasant change," Padma agreed. "At least you can think out here."

"And what are you thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular."

"How has your summer been?"

"Quiet. Mum and Dad like it quiet, so if we want to cause trouble we need to get out of the house. Can't do that with Sirius Black on the loose."

"I can't imagine you causing trouble," Harry chuckled. "It's beyond imagination."

"Parvati causes more than I do. But several of my ideas have been very bold indeed."

"Such as?"

"Oh, there was this one time when I thought it would be just a wonderful idea to take Mum's brand new kitchen stuff and make mud pies."

"Brand new?"

"Brand new," Padma nodded. "And if that's not enough, we tried to bake the things in the oven."

"What!"

"Oh yes. Fortunately we couldn't, because we didn't know the magic word to turn it on. That we hadn't succeeded was completely overlooked by Mum though."

Harry shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"And wouldn't you know, Parvati _snitched_ on me! She was so used to being in trouble that she was very proud to point out that it hadn't been her idea."

"How could she?"

"Who knows? I was upset with her for a long time after that."

"And rightly so."

"So I haven't always been the angel I am now."

Harry smiled. "So modest too."

"And proud of it," she giggled.

"Hey!" came Millie's voice behind them, "Where have you two been? You're missing the show!"

Harry looked at Padma and inclined his head towards the barn. She nodded at him, and they followed Millie back inside. Getting through the crowd was rough, and Harry had several bumps and bruises by the time they found Tim and Parvati.

Parvati, true to her word, was up against a very large speaker near the front of the stage. She had a big smile on her face as she bounced up and down to the music. Tim was thrashing around in a frenzy. It was good that he'd worn the Quidditch gear, because he was colliding with everything! Millie jumped into the air and began dancing when her feet touched the floor.

Harry had no idea how to dance to this music. His wizarding education so far had covered Charms, Transfiguration, Curses and Hexes, Potion-making, and Herb Lore. He could fly a broom and play Quidditch, but he did not know how to dance.

Padma was dancing. Harry studied her motions for awhile while bouncing in place to what he hoped was the beat. They'd never had a beat this fast in the Hogwarts Choir, not by half! It appeared to Harry that her movements were entirely random, but definitely followed a meter. If he wasn't mistaken, that meter was eight beats.

So Harry tried to copy that, counting to eight in his head, and suddenly it was as if the entire song opened to him. He felt his pulse changing, aligning with the beat. The music felt like it was flowing through him. His arms and legs, hands and feet, were moving to the rhythm. His motions were completely random, but they made sense to Harry in some numerical way. But golly, he was having fun!

The song ended abruptly, and Harry stumbled. He caught himself on the edge of the speaker and cheered long and hard. His breath was heaving in his chest. Where was his pumpkin juice?

The next song was slower, but the bass was definitely more intricate. Harry was amazed by the precision of the musician. The way he was playing the thing, it seemed like art. The song went on and on, and Harry danced a lot more. He couldn't stop grinning, though he could barely breathe.

Somehow Harry made it through three more songs. Sweat ran down his face, pasting his hair to his head. Absently, thinking only about how hot he was, he ran one hand back through his hair. So wet was it, though, that it stayed smoothed back.

The lead singer walked back to the edge of the stage, and he stared long and amazed at the lightning bolt scar, plain as day on Harry's forehead, exposed for all the world to see.

Harry was considerably startled when the singer jumped down off the stage and came right for him. "Bloody hell, people! We've got Harry Potter here tonight! And look at him sweat! Tell it true, lad, do you like what you've been hearing tonight?"

With the microphone stuck in his face, Harry had only one answer. "Damn right!"

"You heard it!" the singer shouted as he turned away and jumped back on stage. "This is for our biggest fan, Harry Potter! It's called 'Irresistible Force, Immovable Object'!"

Harry found himself sweating again when the song was over. Tim and Parvati both came over with identical looks of disgust and amazement. Parvati put her hands on her hips.

"You cross-eyed, awful, smelly git," she said crossly. "So unfair."

Tim agreed. "Boy, I wish I was famous."

Harry chose to be annoyed at that. "Then you don't get to come when I try to go talk with the band later."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Harry," Parvati said, suddenly changing posture. "I didn't really _mean_ all that stuff I just said. Please say you'll let me come with you?"

"And what's in it for me?" he asked.

Her face twisted. "Umm, I don't know. What do you want?"

Harry considered that. "I don't know."

"So neither of us knows."

"Seems like."

"How about this?" Tim interjected. "Parvati, you will agree to owe Harry a favour in the future."

"A favour to a Slytherin? Oh, I'll never hear the end of it from Weasley."

"That's the deal," Harry told her. "A favour now for a favour later."

"Deal," Parvati sighed. "But _only_ if we actually get to meet the band!"

"Smart, sis," Padma said in an undertone.

The band at that moment took a break. A large booth had been blocked off, and now the five musicians sat down there. Harry didn't waste any time. He moved towards the booth with Tim, Millie, Parvati, and Padma close behind. When they got to the booth, he stopped abruptly. Everyone behind him stopped short as well, thudding into each other clumsily.

"Hello," Harry said to the singer.

"Lads, it's Potter, come to our table. Make room, squeeze in, all."

"You know me, but I'm afraid I don't know you," Harry stated. "This is my first time hearing your music, but I think it's great!"

"How you like that, Edgar? We've got our first celebrity fan. We should get him to make a statement. Maybe'll drive up our contract a bit." The drummer gave Harry a wink.

"That's horrid, Kevin. Apologize to the lad." The singer looked upset.

"Ah, t'were only after havin' a laugh at the idea," Kevin retorted. "Harry knows that. Right, Harry?"

"Right," Harry agreed. "So you're Kevin? Drums. Edgar? You sing."

"And well," Parvati interjected into the conversation.

"Who's the lass then?" Edgar asked.

"This is my, er," Harry looked at her quickly, "friend, Parvati Patil."

"And who's the lovely twin sister?"

"Padma," she answered for herself.

"And this is Tim, and that's Millie."

"Very nice to meet you all."

"I always love to see the young people out," the bassist said to them. "It's wicked to see the music dance in their eyes."

"That's poetic, Stan," the guitarist complimented. "Write it down."

"Writing it down."

"Speaking of writing down," Tim jumped in, "I've been a fan for two years now. I've got all your albums. But I've never been old enough to go to a show. Could I please, _please_ have your autographs?"

"Lads, we're famous! Someone wants our autographs!" Edgar cheered.

"We'd be glad to," Kevin said sincerely. "Without the fans who listen to our music, what we do wouldn't have much meaning. Thank you for coming tonight."

"Fought tooth and nail to get here," Tim swore.

"Argued for days," Parvati chimed in.

Edgar waved over a man in a very neat suit. "Get a camera, some of glamour shots, and quill and ink."

Almost instantly, the quills and ink appeared. Each band member signed his name to a wizardly, moving photograph. When he had signed, the photo was passed to the right. When they were done, all five children had a band photo signed by each member. The band was, in each separate photo, jamming out wildly. Harry thought it was simply stellar.

"Ah, the camera! Gather in, big picture! How's the shot?"

"Not bad. Hold still." The cameraman stepped slightly to the right. "Perfect. Smile!"

The flash let off a cloud of smoke, but it quickly rose up above the crowd in the vast dome of the apple barn. The man stepped out of the room, coughing slightly as he went.

"And we'll owl that picture to you when we develop the film." Edgar told Harry.

"Sure."

"Lads, lasses, it's been a blast, but we've got to get back on stage and rock it out some more. We won't be around after the finale, but you must come see our next show in Hampshire."

"We're in Hampshire," Kevin corrected.

"The hell we are."

"Come see the next show wherever it is," Stan the bassist laughed. "Now let's get up there!"

Rock it, they did. Well. Very well.

Harry moved so much he thought his feet might fall off. He finally called it quits after two more songs. He wanted to dance, but his body wasn't having it.

"I'm exhausted," sighed Padma, who had joined Harry in leaning against the wall.

"Parvati's still out there. She's still sky high about having _met_ the band. I'm going to hear about it constantly for the next forever. Expect it to be all around school."

"Is Tim still right there with her?"

"Yup. Millie looks a little ragged, though."

"Is anyone ready to call it a night?"

"I was ready an hour ago. I'm exhausted."

"Leave them here?"

"Tempting, but no."

Millie came staggering up at that point. "Ow! Some big fellow knocked me right into the speaker!"

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"He was bigger than Goyle! It happens, but it still hurts!"

"You're welcome to join us. We're the tired people," Padma invited.

"I will."

The finale came four songs later, and Harry cheered in a hoarse voice as flames engulfed the entire stage and everything on it! With a stunning crack of sound, the fire vanished, leaving the bare wood of the stage. The place went bananas.

Harry and his friends hurried back to the private booth to retrieve their signed pictures. That detour left them very far back in the line to access the fireplace. If only there were some way he could have brought his Firebolt, he could be halfway back to Malfoy Manor by now.

"I wish I could learn to Apparate," Tim rued. "None of this waiting in line for me, thank you."

"You could stand to learn a little patience, Nott," Padma chided him. "I seem to recall a story about a troll?"

"I recall that too," Harry added. "Your eagerness got us all in a lot of trouble."

"So you wait," Millie reiterated.

"Now my broom, on the other hand," Harry said casually, "can reach two-forty in ten seconds."

"Wow!" Padma exclaimed. "That's fast!"

"Too fast!" Parvati agreed. "What goes that fast?"

"A Firebolt," Harry said proudly.

"So _you're_ the one who bought it!" Parvati exclaimed. "We saw the manager taking down the display at Quality Quidditch Supplies. He only had the one for sale."

Harry owned something relatively unique. Spiffy.

"I saw that," Tim said bitterly. "I asked the price, and Dad nearly had heart palpitations."

"Say good-bye to the Quidditch Cup again, before the year even starts," Millie gloated. "Harry's the best flier in school, and now he's got the best broom in the world. It's all over."

"Up Slytherin!" Harry cheered.

"Up Slytherin!" echoed Tim and Millie.

Padma smiled tolerantly. "Up Slytherin," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Padma!" Her sister sounded absolutely shocked.

"Slytherin plays a very good game of Quidditch, Parvati. Gryffindor has a good Keeper and good Chasers, but that's not all there is to the game."

"It's not a game, it's a way of life," Parvati sighed dramatically. "The players are so handsome, so dashing, so proud."

"I have to wait until next year to go out for the team," Tim complained. "Damn Flint and his family emergency anyway. If he'd finished school properly, I could go out for Chaser."

"Against how many others?" Harry speculated. "Don't forget, Warrington the Third is the reserve Chaser. You'd have to beat him at trials."

"I could do it," Tim nodded. "He's not that good."

"Not so, Nott," Parvati giggled. Then she giggled again. "Nott so. When he was playing Flint's position, he was really good. He got into sync with Pucey and Montague, and they really tore up the sky. He's got experience."

"If I don't get that Chaser position, it'll be fifth year before a position opens up. I don't want to be a Beater."

"You'd be good at Beating, Nott," Parvati smiled at him encouragingly. "Or in sixth year you could go for Keeper."

"I want to play!" he half-shouted.

"And I want to see you play."

"Then what say you to a pick-up match when we get back to school? First afternoon, your friends in Gryffindor, and my mates in Slytherin."

"Weasley is going to drool when we give him the news," Parvati smirked. "I don't know if we'd be able to get a full squad, though. Amy and Chrissy aren't really the flying sort."

"Plus Longbottom," Millie added. "Remember the _first_ flying lesson?"

"Poor guy," Parvati sighed. "So even counting Lavvie, Weasley, Thomas, and Finnigan, plus me is five. That's not a team."

"Harry, me, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Millie, and Jenna," Tim said. "We've an abundance of Slytherins."

"You could leave out the Beaters," Padma suggested.

"No!" Parvati and Tim exclaimed at the same time.

"We could let the batshits play," Harry speculated.

Parvati looked confused, while Tim and Millie only laughed. Padma looked inquisitively at Harry.

"The Weasley twins," he chuckled. "Percy hauled Draco in to Snape's office for, among other things, calling them twin batshits."

Parvati laughed merrily. "That certainly sounds like him, obnoxious prat that he is."

"He'll be crushed to hear you say that," Harry said dryly.

"Well it sounds like a deal to me," she declared. "If not the twins, I'll find some Gryffindors somewhere to answer the call of house pride."

"Then we will meet on the Quidditch pitch," Tim said grandly. "Until then, adieu."

They had made it through the line now, and Harry, Tim, and Millie parted ways with the Patil twins. The trio headed for Casa de Nott. With the hour being so late, Harry and Millie were going to spend the night. Harry spilled out of the fireplace and collapsed on the floor.

"Good night!" he proclaimed, and promptly began fake-snoring.

"Guest room is this way."

"We only get one room?" Harry questioned.

"Do you need more than one?"

"She does."

"I don't."

"Boys and girls should have their own rooms," Tim declared. "It's just better. It makes more sense."

"Yes," Millie agreed.

"So the guest _rooms,_ plural, are this way."

to be continued...


	6. The Dementor

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Six - The Dementor**

Seven Slytherins could not fit very comfortably into a single compartment, but somehow they did it anyway. There was no room, needless to say, for Crabbe and Goyle. The two boys rode the train in a second compartment where they had all stacked their trunks.

"Get _down_, Argent," Blaise said with exasperation, moving her black and grey cat off the seat for the third time.

"You don't give him enough attention," Millie reprimanded her.

Blaise coughed politely. "You have no idea how much love this cat gets. He is spoiled rotten at home. He's just having withdrawal."

Tim's voice echoed out from the overhead compartment. "Onyx does the same thing." He finally extricated his head and arms and brought out his deck of cards. "Onyx, move."

His black cat raised her head and blinked at him. With a yawn and a stretch, she half-rolled, exposing her chin, and looked up at him shamelessly.

"Cats!" Tim exclaimed. He set the cards on the edge of the seat and picked up his familiar, depositing her gently on the floor. But before Tim could even pick up his cards, she had twisted, turned, and jumped back up into the seat!

Harry laughed. "She's a nut!"

"She thinks it's her seat. She thinks everything belongs to her. When I brought my books home after Diagon Alley, she jumped right into the empty bag!"

"They do that," Blaise nodded.

"She didn't play for the longest time, though, just sat there looking at me as if to say, 'Thank you! Thank you for buying me a bag! I'm so happy!'"

Everyone snickered. "Nuts," Harry reiterated.

"We're getting rather close to school," Jenna noted as the conversation lulled. "We ought to think about getting dressed."

"But I would look horrible in a dress," Draco teased her.

Jenna put her hand on his arm and shoved him playfully. "You prat. If you want to go up to school wearing that God-awful outfit, be my guest. _I_, on the other hand, much prefer my robes."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Draco demanded.

"What _isn't_ wrong with those clothes?" Jenna stood up and put her hand on the compartment door. "Let's go, girls. Give Harry his privacy."

"No, stay."

Harry's words startled them all. In the past, he had always been thoroughly embarrassed to change with the girls present. Not any more. He rose to his feet and tugged his windbreaker over his head.

"I'm not a Muggle," he said, "and I refuse to act like one any more. I can be just like the rest of you."

"Capital!" Jenna enthused. "Get naked then!"

Now _that_ did start Harry's ears burning, and Jenna giggled wickedly.

"Jenna, did you _have_ to say that?" Blaise asked. "Leave Harry alone."

"I'm just teasing him. Sorry, Harry."

Harry swallowed hard, forcing his blush down. He resolutely removed the next article of clothing.

"Somebody was working out this summer," Jenna said in a loud whisper.

"Jenna!"

"What? He's hunky! Look at that chest!"

Harry made himself grin. This was the same banter that he and Jenna always shared; it was no different in spirit. "I did a lot of push-ups when the Muggles had me locked up. I had to pass the time somehow."

Jenna's smile vanished as her lips twisted into a snarl. "They're just lucky _I_ didn't get a chance to hex them," she announced. "The Magic Reversal Squad would never have found them."

"I'm putting it behind me," Harry told them. "Wild dragons couldn't get me to set one foot back on Privet Drive."

"That's healthy," Pansy said before pulling her blue dress over her head.

"I'm a wizard, and I only want to be with other wizards. And witches," he added after a moment.

"Well that's a relief," Jenna needled him.

"Yeah," Draco said. "For a second there, I thought you were saying you're a poof!"

"Ack! No!"

"So you like girls," Jenna said. "Which girls do you like?"

"Jenna!" he protested.

"What? It's a fair question."

"No, it's not!"

"Not me?" Jenna's lower lip was pouting out.

"Stop that!"

When he had finished putting his robes on, Harry wondered at the simpleness of it. How had he ever been embarrassed? What had made him ashamed? It wasn't as though the girls were stripping off their knickers. It was off with the dress or trousers and on with the robes - simple as that.

They started up a game of Exploding Snap a few minutes later as Goyle joined them and Pansy went off with Blaise to find Mandy and Padma. Draco won a few hands, but soon began to lose - badly. His ego bruised, he started getting snappy.

"Oh would you shut _up_, Malfoy?" Tim finally said with audible exasperation.

"Bite me, Nott!" Draco retorted.

"Why don't you go jump off the back of the train? You're being an insufferable git."

"If you've got to abuse someone, go find Weasley," Millie suggested. Her brow furrowed as she studied her cards.

"That's an excellent idea," Draco declared, tossing down his cards, which exploded with a small burst of flame. "Goyle, come along."

"But I'm winning!"

"I don't care."

Never one to pass up a chance to get one up on Weasley, Harry turned in his cards as well and followed Draco out of the compartment with Goyle close behind. In the corridor they found Crabbe animatedly discussing the movements of Jupiter he had observed over the summer with Terry Boot, one of their Ravenclaw friends.

"Wotcher, Slytherins!"

"Wotcher, Ravenclaw," Harry said in return. Harry liked Terry well enough, but the round-faced boy was too studious by half. He and Tim were always competing for points in Herbology, their shared class with Ravenclaw.

"Crabbe, good. We're on our way to find Weasley." Draco glanced out the window and smoothed his hair, having caught a glimpse of his reflection.

"And I suppose you want me to come too."

"It had occurred to me."

"Guess we'll have to discuss Perseids later, Boot," Crabbe said regretfully.

"Weasley's just a few compartments down," the Ravenclaw informed them. "Longbottom and Thomas are with him."

"That's no problem," Draco declared confidently. "Let's go."

"Come find me after the feast," Terry invited Crabbe. "I'm going to go check in on my cousin. She's starting this year."

"I will."

Terry was correct, as he almost always was; the three Gryffindors were chatting away when Draco slid the door open unannounced. Weasley was instantly on his feet.

"I thought I smelled something nasty," he proclaimed.

"Then you should have bathed this morning," Draco retorted.

"I meant you."

"I did bathe. Extensively."

"Nearly an hour," Harry confirmed.

"But I do smell something," Draco continued. He sniffed theatrically. "Smells like - Mudblood."

Thomas' face was probably turning red, but his black skin disguised it. His expression, though, was angry as he also got to his feet. "Malfoy, you'd better shut your mouth."

"It's four on two, Mudblood. What are you going to do?" Draco sneered.

Weasley laughed. "You can't count, Malfoy. It's four on three."

"You mean you're counting Longbottom?" Draco snickered. "You have got a sense of humour after all. I was just saying to Harry the other day-"

"Four on th-three, Malfoy," Longbottom stuttered bravely. He also got to his feet.

"Good man, Neville!" Weasley cheered.

"Why's it not three and a half, Weasley?" Harry poked him in the chest. "Where's your little sister? Doesn't your mummy have her keep an eye on you so you don't get into trouble?"

Weasley was turning the most delightful shade of red. "Shut up about Ginny, Potter!"

"Ginny Potter? Are they getting married?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

"Is that all you can say? 'Shut up, Malfoy; shut up Potter'? You've really got to widen your vocabulary," Draco continued to talk, nonchalantly fixing his hair. "Perhaps we should set you up on a date with Zabini. She'd be able to teach you a few new words."

Weasley shoved Draco, sending him thudding into the solidness of Goyle. He bounced off and ended up sprawled in the corner seat. Goyle grabbed Weasley's arm and twisted, getting a grunt of pain from him.

Thomas had taken a swing at Crabbe, but had done something wrong, because he was now cradling his hand. Longbottom was looking very scared, but he put up his dukes to Harry like a TV-style boxer. He looked so comical that Harry had to laugh. He put one hand on Longbottom's fist and gently pushed it down.

"I don't want to fight you, Neville," he said, using the boy's given name. "Weasley and Thomas swung first and got paid for it. Why do you want to try to hit me?"

"I guess I f-feel like I should. Ron's always saying how we have to stand up to the Slytherins."

"You hear that, Draco? Longbottom's been listening to Weasley."

"Well that's a bad idea," Draco said, getting to his feet. "Crabbe, pick him up."

The larger boy grabbed onto Weasley's jacket and lifted him up to his feet. Then Crabbe twisted his arm behind his back and grabbed a handful of red hair.

Draco leaned in close. "Sister a bit of a sore spot, is she, Weasley? Yes, I imagine it would be. She's quite taken with us Slytherins, you know. End of last year, we couldn't be rid of her. It must burn you up to see her with us. That's why I went along with it, despite what she helped do on Halloween. I think I might even try making friends with her."

"Malfoy, you stay away from my sister!"

At that moment, before things could really get ugly, Crabbe yelled in pain and waved his hand around in the air. A small flash of grey landed on the seat and stood up on hind legs, chattering angrily. It was Weasley's pet rat that he was always carrying around in his pocket. Blood was dripping from Crabbe's hand where the creature had bitten him.

"My hand!"

"Hah! Serves you right!" Weasley crowed, plucking up his pet and depositing it on his shoulder. "Scabbers and I'll do you up a treat. Come on, then!"

Draco glared at the bigmouth. "We'll take good care of your little sister, Weasley. And I'll give Percy your greetings when I see him next." He glanced at Harry. "Let's go."

In the hall, Harry took a look at Crabbe's bite. The rodent's teeth had penetrated deep, and red blood was seeping from the torn flesh. Harry drew his wand and cast a minor Healing Charm. The pain on Crabbe's face eased and the bigger boy wrapped his handkerchief around the wound.

"Brilliant plan, Malfoy," he grumbled.

"Shut up. It was fine until that stupid rat got in the way. We ought to do something about it. Say, don't owls like rats?"

"I ought to grab his neck," Crabbe grumbled. "And squeeze it."

"Too messy," Draco over-ruled. "What we need is some insidious plan. I think I _will_ try to make friends with his sister. It's the perfect revenge."

Harry nodded. "I want to find the second years. I've had an idea of my own of what to do about our Weasley tag-along."

"What's that then?"

"You'll see."

Harry started walking. He ignored all of Draco's pleading to be told the plan. He walked back towards their own compartment, but kept going another few doors down. He rapped sharply and stood back.

"Yes?" A pretty girl with auburn hair answered the knock. "Oh! Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Laine." Harry and Draco had rescued Laine Slater and her brother Lucas from Percy last year before the prefect had come around to a decent way of thinking. Laine had largely been unable to speak directly to him during her first year, but now she was looking him right in the face.

"How was your summer?" she asked sweetly.

"Very exciting. I went to go see Wand Smasher in this old apple barn."

"Wand Smasher! Wow! That must have been _lots_ of fun."

Harry grinned at her. "It was _smashing_," he dead-panned to an intense groan from Draco.

"And Malfoy, you're here too. Well, do come in." She raised a hand to Crabbe and Goyle, "Sorry, not enough room in here," she said, and shut the door in their faces!

"And now we have you all to ourselves," Laine pronounced. The three other girls in the compartment giggled loudly. "Does everyone know everyone?"

"I'm Michelle," a blonde girl with several thick braids introduced herself. She offered Harry her hand.

"Harry."

Michelle giggled. "I know."

"I'm Shawna," said a brown-haired girl. She smiled shyly at Draco, who winked at her.

The last girl was also blonde, and she waved at them from her seat. "Sarrah."

"What brings you boys rapping at our compartment door?" Laine asked.

"We were looking for you."

"And why is that?"

"I have a favour to ask of you." He looked around. "Of all of you, really."

Laine tilted her head to the side. "What do you need, Harry?"

"Ginny Weasley started following us around at the end of last year."

"I remember," Laine nodded. "She ate meals with you, spent lots of hours in your presence. I thought it was quite the cat's pyjamas how she got to hang out with you older kids."

"Well she wants to get out of Gryffindor, but old McGonagall won't agree to it. But what do you girls think of it? Would you be willing to take her in? If you bring her in, just like the sixth years brought in Percy, there won't be anything to be done. Professor Snape will back up the choice you've made."

"And you say she's going to be all right?" Sarrah asked. "That's a pretty huge favour."

"But not an impossible one," Laine decided. "And it will cost you something."

"Money?" Harry couldn't believe that a younger student - a girl! - would try to extort him.

"No, silly," Laine laughed, shaking her head. "I will go along with this plan of yours if you bring me a present from Hogsmeade.

"Like what?"

Laine giggled. "Surprise me, Harry. Shawna, what do you want?"

"A present from Draco," she giggled.

"What!"

"Sarrah?"

"I'd be content with money."

"Sarrah!"

"Okay, I want something from Hogsmeade too," she sighed. "Butterbeer. Get me some of that, and I'll do anything you want."

"Michelle?"

"A favour now for a favour later," the blonde said, playing with one of her braids. "You'll owe me one, Harry."

"Hah!" Draco laughed. "She knows how to play the game!"

Michelle blushed slightly, but grinned at him nonetheless.

"Then we have a deal," Harry nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Laine said.

"We'll be going now. I have to figure out what to get for a present," Draco said.

"See you at the feast!" Harry waved goodbye.

"Bye, Harry! Bye, Draco!"

Outside the compartment, Draco shook his head at Harry. "You never cease to amaze me. Inviting the Weaslette to hang around was brilliant, but getting the girls to take her in is inspired. It completely simplifies my involvement, and I get to play it full for Weasley."

"Hang on a minute," Harry said before they reached their own compartment. "I want to grab a book out of my trunk."

"We haven't even got to school yet," Draco protested.

"It's not a studying book. I found an essay that I wanted to share with everyone. It's interesting, I promise."

In the other compartment, something was awry. Their trunks had been moved aside, apparently by the down-and-out fellow who was slumped in the corner seat. He didn't look like much. His brown hair was speckled with grey, and there was nothing striking about him except the growth of moustache on his upper lip. He wore an extremely shabby wizard's robe that had been darned in several places.

"Must be the new Defence teacher," Crabbe judged.

"You're a natural for Divination," Harry teased him.

In response, the bigger boy pointed at the small suitcase between the man's feet. It was very battered and was held together only by a large quantity of neatly knotted string.

"Professor R.J. Lupin," Draco read from the tarnished brass. "More like the new Professor for Shabby Dressing. He looks ill. I hope he's not sick with something."

"S'not important," determined Goyle. "Let's just get Harry's book and get back to the game. I was winning, you know."

"Hey, there you are," Tim said as he stepped out of the primary compartment. "I told the girls I'd go look for you."

"Objective complete," Goyle chuckled.

"How did the Weasley-baiting go?"

"His blasted rat bit me!" Crabbe exclaimed. "I'm bleeding!"

Tim drew his wand and cast the same Healing Charm that Harry had cast earlier. The light that glowed seemed just a bit brighter and steadier this time. Crabbe flexed his finger gingerly, and a pleasantly surprised grin spread across his face.

"It doesn't hurt!"

"I'm a natural at these sorts of things," Tim told him seriously.

"All in all things worked out well. The second years are adopting Weasley's sister, so she's out of our hair," Draco informed Tim. "And now we're just investigating the new Defence professor."

"R.J. Lupin."

"He's got to be better than Lockhart," Harry tried to be positive.

Tim laughed. "Certainly true. Well, I expect we'll find out soon enough what this fellow is made of. Let's get back. Who knows what the girls are talking about with all of us blokes gone?"

"Who cares?" Goyle asked, grimacing as his voice cracked again.

"If your voice is changing, then you ought to be interested, Goyle. Let's listen in."

The boys leaned in close to the compartment door.

"... with it, Blaise. Who's been on your mind this summer?" Jenna's voice was the first they heard.

"Harry, of course," the blonde girl answered promptly. "I've liked him since first year."

"We're all well aware." That was Pansy talking. "When are you going to kiss him?"

"I don't know," Blaise sounded almost despairing. "Every time I think I'm ready to try, he smiles at me and my insides turn to mush."

"That's so sweet," Pansy sighed.

"If you say so." That was Millie.

"One day, Millicent, you too will discover what it means to like a boy and to think sweet thoughts about him."

Millie made a gagging sound. "I'd rather play Quidditch."

"Better watch yourself, Harry," Tim cautioned in a whisper. "Your lips have a target on them."

"What about you, Pansy? Will your first kiss be with Tim or Draco?"

"Neither, thank you very much."

"Goyle?"

"Now there's a thought," Pansy said, as though she were considering it.

"Pansy!" That was all the other girls together.

"What? I know Draco and I are expected to marry, but I really don't look at him like that. And Tim? Please, I'd rather have my lips ripped off than kiss _that_ troll."

"Goyle looks more like a troll than Tim. Tim is actually quite handsome."

"You be quiet, Jenna."

"I'm only saying. If Blaise kisses Harry, and you won't kiss Draco or Tim, then it leaves Crabbe or Goyle."

"Says who? Maybe I'll decide to kiss Terry."

"Lucky him," Blaise noted.

"I think Mandy might have something to say about that," Jenna said.

"Who's Jenna after?" Harry muttered.

"Sounds like it could be me," Tim replied.

"Well, one thing is for certain, girls," Pansy told them. "Full disclosure on all kissing-related activities is mandatory."

"Agreed."

At that moment, the train began to slow down. The boys looked around in confusion.

"We can't be there yet," Draco said.

"So why are we stopping?" Crabbe asked.

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows. Other noise soon joined in as students began to poke their heads out of their compartments, curious to know what was going on. Speculation flew as heavy as the rain pounding the train.

"Perhaps we've broken down," Tim suggested.

"Let's go see if we can find out what's going on," Harry suggested.

"We'd just get in the way," Goyle said firmly. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Let's get back and play cards."

Without warning, all the lamps went out! The train was plunged into total darkness. Several girls screamed, and Harry lost his balance, grabbing onto Crabbe's shoulder for support.

"Ouch, that's my foot!" Draco exclaimed.

"Sorry," Goyle rumbled.

The compartment door they'd been standing outside of slid open.

"Hello?" Harry asked.

"Harry, thank Merlin!" Blaise sounded very relieved.

"Is everyone alright?"

"We're fine," Jenna said from the darkness.

There was a squeaking noise, and Millie spoke up from the window. "There's something moving outside. I think it might be some people boarding the train."

"The Hogwarts Express is a one-stop train," Tim said in a speculative voice.

From the compartment where the Slytherins had stored their trunks, a light suddenly appeared. The new professor stood in the corridor holding a handful of crackling flames. His face was still grey and tired in the light, but his eyes were alert and wary.

"Everyone back in your compartments," he said in a hoarse voice. "Quickly!"

The sudden slamming of doors was cacophonous.

Harry felt cold. A horrid chill seemed to have entered the train, like a frost spirit. His breath caught in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, inside his very heart. He turned to look behind him and wished fervently that he had not.

A cloaked figure was coming towards them, not so much walking as gliding. It was tall, nearly the height of the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath the hood. A hand protruded from the cloak, a glistening, greyish, slimy-looking, scabby, decaying hand. Harry could hear its horrible breathing, slow and rattling, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

Harry's eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn't see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder! And from far away, he heard screaming - terrible, terrified, pleading screams. He wanted to help whoever it was; he tried to move his arms but couldn't! A thick white fog was swirling around him, inside him -

"Harry! Harry! Are you all right?"

Someone was slapping his face.

"W-what?"

Harry opened his eyes; there were lanterns above him, and the floor was shaking. The Hogwarts Express was moving again, and the lights had come back on. He seemed to have fallen to the floor in the corridor. Draco and Blaise were kneeling beside him, and all the rest of his friends were hovering close by. Professor Lupin was watching him closely. Harry felt sick - very sick - and when he put his hand up to push his glasses back on, he could feel cold sweat on his skin.

"Can you move?" Draco asked him.

"I think so."

"Good. Up into the compartment."

With some help from his friends, Harry made it to a seat. His legs were shaking something awful.

"What happened? Where did that thing go? Who screamed?"

"No one screamed, Harry," Blaise said, anxiety in her face as she studied his eyes.

"But I heard it." He looked around at his friends, squinting at the bright light. Tim and Pansy were very pale, and he had a troubled expression.

"But I heard screaming," Harry half-whispered.

A loud snap made them all jump! Professor Lupin was standing in the doorway breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces.

"Here. Eat it," he instructed Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. "It'll help." He passed out chocolate to the rest of the Slytherins, giving Tim a larger piece as well.

Harry took his chocolate, but hesitated at putting it in his mouth.

"What was that thing?" he asked the new Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"A dementor," Lupin answered. "One of the dementors of Azkaban."

Everyone stared at him, wide-eyed. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.

"Eat it," he told them again. "It will help. I need to go and speak with the driver. Please excuse me."

And he was gone.

"Are you sure you're okay, Harry?" Blaise asked again, looking deep into his face.

Harry wiped sweat off his brow. He felt awful. Never in his life had he felt worse. Everything hurt, even thinking.

"What happened?" Time had passed strangely; Harry wanted to know why.

"Well, the dementor came down the corridor," Draco started off. "And you were watching it."

"I remember that."

"And then you just _fell_. I thought it might have been a hex of some kind. You were on the floor, all rigid like _petrificus totalis_, and then you started twitching."

"Professor Lupin drew his wand, then, and he stepped over you and walked right towards it!" There was no doubt what 'it' was. "He said, 'None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.' But the dementor didn't move. That's when he said this spell I couldn't hear, and a silvery glow moved very slowly towards it. It turned around and glided away."

"It was horrible," Pansy told him. "Did you feel how cold it got when it came in?"

"I felt so depressed," said Jenna. "Like I'd never laugh again."

"All I could think about was all my bad marks," Goyle spoke up. "I heard my dad shouting over and over again that I'm never going to amount to anything with a head full of mutton."

"I remembered my mum succeeding at getting me in a dress. I remembered every single time it happened," Millie shared. "Why did she have to torture me like that?"

"But nobody - fell down?" Harry asked awkwardly.

"No," Blaise said, looking anxiously at him again. "Tim and Pansy were shaking pretty hard, though."

Harry didn't understand. He felt weak and shivery, as though he were recovering from a bad bout of flu. Hints of shame were also creeping in. Why had he gone to pieces like that, when no one else had?

Professor Lupin had come back. He leaned in to the very crowded compartment and smiled at them. "That chocolate isn't poisoned, you know."

Harry took a bite, and to his surprise felt warmth spread suddenly to the tips of his fingers and toes! The icy chill he'd felt was burned away. He took another bite and felt the same sensation, slightly lessened. Each bite sent waves of warmth through him, and when the chocolate was gone, he felt nearly himself again.

"We'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes," the professor informed them. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Marvellous," he said dryly.

They didn't talk much for the rest of the journey. Though they'd eaten their chocolate, everyone seemed to draw into him or herself. What few attempts anyone made to break the silence were half-hearted.

At long last, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station. There was a great struggle to get out into the open air. Owls hooted, cats meowed, and Longbottom's ridiculous toad croaked happily from under the boy's hat. An icy rain was coming down in sheets. The air was frigid.

"Firs' years this way!" came Hagrid's great voice. The lot of terrified-looking new students followed him off the platform for the traditional journey across the lake.

Harry ignored the musty smell of the stagecoach that brought the returning students up to the castle. He leaned back in his seat and looked out the window. As the coach approached the great wrought iron gates, he felt sick again. Standing in the rain in front of the stone columns with winged boars on top were two more towering, hooded dementors, standing guard. A wave of coldness threatened to engulf him, and he closed his eyes, praying not to upchuck. The carriage came to a halt at last, and they piled out.

"So you _fainted_, Potter?" came a delighted and grating voice.

Ron Weasley elbowed past Pansy to block Harry's way up to stone steps to the castle, his face gleeful and his blue eyes filled with malice.

"I saw the whole thing," he proclaimed, and several heads turned to look. "Potter got one look at the dementor and fell down crying like a little girl with a skinned knee!"

"Shove off, Weasley," Harry growled. The last thing he needed right now was to deal with the petty Gryffindor's petty annoyances. "Or did you want another beating?"

"What do you mean 'another'?" he said scornfully. "Who drew first blood?"

"My owl's dinner," Draco taunted him. "Move before I hex you."

Weasley blinked suddenly as Draco's wand was pointed at his nose. "Too slow, Weasley. Zap! You're dead!"

Wisely, perhaps, Weasley made no response, but backed away slowly. Draco kept his wand pointed until they were well past the Gryffindor, even taking the steps backward, to guard their rear position.

"God, he's annoying!" Draco exclaimed as they went through giant oak front doors, into the cavernous Entrance Hall lit with flaming torches, past the magnificent marble staircase that led to the upper floors, and headed for the Great Hall where the Welcoming Feast awaited them.

"Potter, I want to see you," called a voice just as Harry caught sight of the enchanted ceiling. Harry swore under his breath; the voice belonged to the Deputy Headmistress.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked, after fighting his way over to her.

"Please come with me."

Harry had no choice but to follow as she stepped out of the hall and up the stairs to the offices on the second floor. Her office was a small room with a large, welcoming fire. Professor McGonagall motioned him to sit down. She sat behind her desk and folded her hands in front of her.

"Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were taken ill on the train, Potter."

Oh for the love of magic!

There was a knock on the door, and Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, came bustling in. Harry felt blood rushing to his face. This was humiliating.

"Oh, it's you again, is it?"

"I'm fine," he said, standing up. "I don't need anything."

"_I'm_ the judge of that, laddie," Madam Pomfrey said, leaning down to peer in his eyes. "I suppose you've been doing something dangerous again?"

"It was a dementor, Poppy."

The two witches exchanged a dark look, and Madam clucked disapprovingly.

"Setting dementors around a school," she muttered, pushing back Harry's hair to feel his forehead. "He won't be the last to collapse, mark my words. Yes, he's all clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are already delicate-"

"I'm not delicate!" Harry protested sharply.

"Of course you're not," Madam said absently, now taking his pulse.

"What does he need?" old McGonagall asked in crisp tones. "Bed rest? A stay in the hospital wing?"

"A week off of Transfiguration?" Harry jutted in hopefully.

"Be quiet, Potter. This is no joking matter."

"I'm _fine_!" he emphasized. "I just need some food. I'll get that after the Sorting, if I haven't missed it!"

"He should have some chocolate, and then yes, hot food."

"I've had chocolate," Harry spoke quickly. "Professor Lupin gave it to me."

"Ah!" Madam Pomfrey said in a pleased voice. "So we've finally got a Defence teacher who knows his remedies, have we?"

"Apparently." Harry went to the door. "I'll go get that hot food now."

to be continued...


	7. Slytherin House Gets Bigger

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Seven - Slytherin House Gets Bigger**

Harry hurried down to the Great Hall after leaving the Deputy Headmistress's office and heard applause going on. He dashed to where Draco and the others were sitting just in time to hear tiny, little Professor Flitwick call out, "Amelia Berry!" Of all the miserable, sodding-! He'd missed the Sorting Hat's song!

"Gryffindor!" the Hat shouted out, and the table on the far end of the hall burst into applause as the first student was Sorted.

"Nice of you to join us," Jenna quipped as Harry slid into his seat. "Old McGonagall hand you detention already?"

"Yah, for being a Slytherin."

"Regina Boot!"

"She'll be a Ravenclaw, just like him," Blaise said promptly.

Terry Boot obviously agreed with her, because he was already making space at the Ravenclaw table for his cousin to join them.

Jenna giggled. "Seriously, Harry? Do you have detention?"

"No, she was being nosy about the dementor. Would you believe she called Madam Pomfrey up to check me out?"

"Maybe she was just concerned. You _did_ collapse on the train."

"You collapsed on the train?" Ginny Weasley, their ex-Gryffindor tag-along was also sitting with them.

"Don't remind me," he said sourly.

"Slytherin!"

It was the only time Harry had ever seen Terry speechless. The rest of the Ravenclaw table was equally stunned. Tim, however, guffawed loudly and started clapping his hands and cheering. He stood up and welcomed Regina to the table.

"Camille Brocklehurst!"

"Gryffindor!"

"Is that Mandy's sister?" Millie asked.

"Her cousin," Blaise answered promptly.

"Victoria Christensen!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Amy Derrick!"

"That's my little sister," Matthew Derrick could be heard from where he was sitting with his fellow sixth years. "I'll flatten anyone who crosses her."

"She here to replace you as Beater, then?" Harry called down the table. Hoots of laughter rose from the rest of the Quidditch team and anyone nearby.

"Slytherin!"

Hufflepuff claimed Emily Dixon, and then it was Slytherin's turn again as fourth year Michael Drummond's little sister Sanna joined them. Phillipe Fierto and Kendra Gellaes were called to Ravenclaw. Slytherin was cheering again when Timothy Hammaran, younger brother of fifth year Courtney was announced.

"Elisabeth Hampton!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Christine Higgs!"

"Slytherin!"

"Look out, Potter!" Derrick half-bellowed. "Higgs got his sister to take back his position!"

Terence, who had been Seeker before Harry, made a horrific face and mouthed something Harry couldn't hear. It was most likely the promise of a hexing, given how sore Higgs still was about not being on the team anymore.

Hufflepuff claimed John Kelvar and Robert Kent before Gryffindor got just its third new student of the night in Benjamin King. Benedict Kivaral was sent to Slytherin, Ravenclaw got Gregory Lane, and Hufflepuff nabbed two more in a row: Alfred Leopold and Erin LePlante.

"Trevor Logan!"

"Get on with it," Goyle grumbled. "I'm starving. Again."

"Gryffindor!"

Slytherin and Ravenclaw alternated between Christopher Macnamara (younger brother of a Ravenclaw seventh year), Elizabeth Murdock (younger sister of a Slytherin sixth year), Theodore Nolan (now in Slytherin with his older sister), and Amelia Padhye (also now in Ravenclaw with _her_ sister).

"Anyone _not_ have siblings coming in this year?" Jenna asked, looking around the table.

"I don't," Draco grinned.

"Mary-Sue Richardson!"

"What kind of name is that?" Pansy sniffed haughtily.

"Gryffindor!"

"It's a Gryffindor name," Harry laughed.

"Michael Roitt!"

"Gryffindor!"

"Claudia Victoria Ruic!"

Perhaps the tallest eleven year old Harry had ever seen nervously stepped up to the stool.

"Slytherin!"

"Yes!" shouted the girl, her voice muffled by the Hat over her face. "Yesyesyes!" She pulled off the hat, placed it carefully back on the stool, and practically ran to the Slytherin table with her light brown hair streaming behind her.

"Excited, wot?" Draco teased her.

The girl searched out the voice with her eyes, and they sparkled as she flashed a huge smile at the blond boy. "Indubitably."

But Claudia was the last new Slytherin of the new year, as Henry Shane (Ravenclaw), Adam Shattery (Gryffindor), Sophia Sheridan (Ravenclaw), Nicholas Smith (Hufflepuff), Evan Taylor (Gryffindor), Oscar Trymelo (Ravenclaw), Arthur Wollcott (Hufflepuff), and Cynthia Wordsworth (Gryffindor) all had their turn under the Sorting Hat. Professor Flitwick rolled up his scroll, levitated the stool, and took his place up at the High Table with the rest of the teachers.

Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet. The old wizard somehow exuded an impression of great energy. He had several feet of long silver hair and beard, half-moon spectacles, and an extremely crooked nose. He was often described as the greatest wizard of the current age. He was said to be the one person that Voldemort had feared to confront, for even during the war he had never attacked Hogwarts. Dumbledore had his quirks and oddities, probably one for every star in the sky, but tonight he was incredibly focused on the students as they gazed up expectantly at him, waiting for his greeting.

"Welcome!" he said firmly, candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast."

He cleared his throat and continued, "As you will all no doubt be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

By the expression on his face and the gleam in his eye, the old wizard was _not_ pleased about his announcement.

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises - or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly. Draco cast a side-glance at Harry, matched by Tim and Blaise.

Dumbledore paused and gazed around the Great Hall, gathering every eye. Nobody made a sound. "It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors."

Sitting with the seventh-year Slytherins, Percy Weasley sat wearing green and silver, wearing a gold badge on the front of his robes reading "Head Boy". His face was also serious, and he leaned in to hear a whisper from Jamie Zabini.

"On a happier note," Dumbledore continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

There was some scattered applause, but largely from the third year Slytherins, who had watched him repel the dementor on the train. Tim was generally impressed with magical aptitude and seemed willing to give the man a fair shake regardless of how poor he seemed to be. Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.

"Oi, Harry, check out Snape!" Crabbe whispered.

Professor Snape was staring along the High Table at Professor Lupin. It was common knowledge that Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House, wanted the Defence post, but Harry was stunned at the magnitude of loathing in the twisted expression on the man's face.

"As to our second appointment," Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Professor Lupin died away. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

"Bollocks!" exclaimed Tim.

"Absurd!" Pansy echoed.

"Just _wait_ until Father hears of this!" Draco vowed.

The applause was about as hesitant for Hagrid as it had been for Professor Lupin. Stories still circulated around the school of the big man's drunkenness, and there were many things that Harry had seen for himself that led to a logical conclusion about his condition.

"What other fun surprises does he have in store for us?" Millie asked sarcastically. "That miserable Monster Book nearly took my hand off. I had to tie a rope around it to keep it from eating the rest of my books!"

"Mine ate my Potions assignment," Crabbe contributed. "Miserable, sodding thing!"

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," Dumbledore declared. "Let the feast begin!"

The golden plates and cups before them filled with food and drink. Everyone ravenously turned their attention to the platters of meats and bowls of vegetables. The chatter and the clatter and the clunk filled the air.

"Feeling better?" Blaise asked Harry, reaching past him for the salt.

"I knew I just needed food," he replied just as quietly. "Give me a night's sleep, and I'll be in tip-top shape."

When they had finished the main course, Crabbe left the table to go discuss Perseids with Terry at the Ravenclaw table. The rest of the gang demolished the bowls of puddings and sherbets that arrived after. When he was done, Harry wiped his mouth and sighed contentedly. "What a meal!"

"Wonderful," Goyle agreed, still chewing a slice of pie. "Gets better every year."

"That's only because you eat more, fathead," Tim needled him. "I've never seen such an appetite."

"Maybe a dragon could keep up," Blaise suggested for comparison.

At that moment, Jamie Zabini approached their group and leaned in. "Hey all, the password to the common room is _'We miss Kettleburn'_."

"What?" Tim exclaimed. "We didn't even know him."

"Well plenty of us _older_ students did, Nott," the prefect retorted. "When you're a prefect, you can pick the passwords. Until that day, when I shall thankfully be far away from the school, we will show our support for a fine teacher and our opposition to the great oaf in this manner. Those in the house will know what is expected of them - and of you."

"I wasn't planning on taking the class," Tim retorted. "I'm sticking to Double A's."

"You know that Terry is doing that plus Magical Creatures," Blaise shared. "Mandy told me they both signed up for three new subjects. She's also going to be taking Divination."

"Three classes? Such a typical Ravenclaw."

"Hey, I'm taking three classes," Jenna pointed out. "I'm going to be there with Mandy in Divination."

"Me, too," echoed Crabbe and Goyle.

Tim's face was troubled. "I could accept such over-achievement from Boot, but you three? Intolerable," he declared. "I must find another class to take."

"There's plenty of room in Muggle Studies," Jenna said brightly.

"I'd rather fail every subject," Tim retorted. "Perhaps it would be interesting to learn about some magical creatures."

"Wonderful," Millie contributed. "You can tell us all the mistakes that Hagrid makes during his lectures."

"I need to go see Professor Snape about this. Excuse me, please."

Tim left the table and approached the faculty. Jenna shook her head as he walked away. "That boy is entirely too competitive."

"He's Slytherin," Draco said by way of an answer. "But I would never take the class with that drunken oaf teaching it."

"The gossip is that Weasley signed up. And we're going to have to see him in Divination." Jenna made a face expressing her displeasure at the prospect.

Draco reconsidered his position. "Well, tormenting Weasley is always good. I suppose I would take the class, at that."

"On the bright side, at least Crabbe'll have lots of opportunity to squeeze his neck," Harry tried to be positive. "It's a long way up to - where does Divination meet, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," Jenna confessed. "Oi, Lapointe."

"Yah?" the fourth year boy called from down the table.

"Where's Divination meet?"

"Top of North Tower."

"Thanks!" Jenna turned back to the group. "It's at the top of North Tower," she repeated.

"That's a fair walk. Plenty of time for all kinds of accidents to happen." Harry loathed Weasley and knew he'd cry only crocodile tears if something nasty were to befall him - be_fall_ him.

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Goyle considered.

"Hi, Harry!" Laine Slater had approached their seats unseen. Her eyes were smiling as she looked only at Harry.

"Laine, hello. Ginny Weasley, Laine Slater. Laine Slater, Ginny Weasley."

"Hullo."

"Hi!"

"Ginny, has Professor McGonagall given you leave to move out of Gryffindor Tower yet?" Harry knew the answer to be no, otherwise the red-haired girl would have been bursting with joy.

"No," Ginny replied crossly. "I'm starting to get a little irritated with the old bat."

Laine giggled. "Well, your troubles are over. On behalf of the second year Slytherin girls, I'm extending a formal invitation to bunk down in the dungeons. There's no extra bed, but we can double up until we get one."

"I'd sleep on the stone floor with no pyjamas to get out of Gryffindor," Ginny vowed emphatically.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary. If you'll follow me, I'll introduce you to the rest of the girls."

Ginny stood up immediately. "What are we waiting for?"

The one-time Gryffindor cast a speculative glance back at Harry as she was led away by Laine. Harry winked at her and saw her cheeks start to redden before she turned her face. He looked around at his friends and smiled.

"No more tag-along," he said with satisfaction.

"Impressive," Jenna admired. "Who engineered that?"

"Harry did," Draco told her. "On the train."

"Prodigious," Blaise praised him.

The third years followed the crowd as Slytherin House descended to the dungeon depths of the castle. The greenish light given off by the hanging lamps on the ceiling made the common room seem cosy and inviting. The fire was crackling cheerfully in the grate, and seeing the four-poster beds in their dormitory was like coming home.

Harry was tired, more so than he'd ever been after the long trip to school. With a twisted smile, he realized that it probably had to do with that dementor. "To bed, then, lads?"

"Indeed," Tim agreed. "I'm knackered."

The next morning, the second year girls waved to Harry as he sat down at the breakfast table. Ginny seemed perfectly content, wearing a green and silver tie so naturally that it seemed she'd never worn anything else. Her smile lit up her whole face, and Harry was glad to see it.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, Harry," the girls said together.

"Sleep well?" Laine inquired.

"Always," he replied, reaching for the sugar. "Ginny, did they make you sleep naked on the floor?"

Ginny turned bright red and shook her head. "No, Laine was nice enough to share with me."

"We're going to see Professor Snape after classes and get an extra bed put in," Laine giggled. "Tonight you'll have all the space you want."

Sam Palce, seventh-year Prefect, walked through the double doors and made straight for Harry. "Good, you're here," he said distractedly. He held out a fistful of parchments. "Schedules," he said shortly, handing another sheaf to Laine.

"Thanks, Sam," Harry said around a mouthful of oatmeal.

"Has anyone seen the third years yet?"

"I'm a third year," he said, trying not to laugh.

"Of course. The fourth years?"

"Not yet."

Sam hurried off, spying the fifth years just entering the hall. The girls giggled as he moved out of earshot.

"He seems distracted," Michelle observed.

"You would be too," Harry replied.

"Harry, you're up early," commented Draco as he joined the table.

"I was hungry."

"I see that."

"Schedules," Harry said with his mouth full, handing Draco one of the parchments.

"Arithmancy, excellent, Defence, History and Charms. Well, one new subject isn't bad."

"Consider it two," Harry quipped. "We might actually get a real Defence class today."

Harry's witticism set off a cascade of giggles amongst the girls. Their last two instructors in the subject of Defence Against the Dark Arts had been a stuttering simpleton scared of his own shadow and a fraud, respectively. Quirrell's stuttering had been an act, of course, but they still hadn't learned anything of much use during his lectures.

The rest of Harry's friends came trickling in a few at a time. He handed each one a schedule as he tried to eat as much food as possible. He ate until his stomach groaned, and even then he had just one last glass of pumpkin juice.

"Arithmancy first," Tim said. "Outstanding. I've been looking forward to it all summer."

"You're sick," Goyle grunted. "Holiday is supposed to get you _away_ from studying, not leave you wanting more."

"Why are you even awake? You've got a break first period," Harry told him, enviously handing over the boy's schedule.

"I do?" Goyle's plain face had a surprised expression. "Brill! I get to sleep in on Thursdays! _And_ Fridays!"

"I absolutely hate you," Tim avowed. "I have to get up early every morning!"

"So do I, Tim," Millie patronized him. "Shut up."

"Well then you should hate him too."

"I hate the person in charge of scheduling," she grumbled. "Stupid me took stupid Arithmancy instead of Ancient Runes. I could have been sleeping in too."

"Well I hate him," Crabbe commiserated. "Why did we sign up for Arithmancy, Millie?"

"Because we're stupid."

"Oh. Right."

Harry, who along with most of the rest got to sleep in on Tuesday and Wednesday, felt a pang of sympathy. "If Tim can get into a new class, you two should be able to."

"We could?" Crabbe's face brightened. "Switch into Ancient Runes? And sleep in?"

"I'm almost tempted," Millie said, thinking it over.

"It would be great to have the whole gang in there," Jenna commented. "Plus, I hear that there's only two Gryffindors brave enough to sign up."

"Weasley?" Harry asked with a sinking feeling.

"No, he nancied out with Magical Creatures and Divination," Pansy told them. "Mandy told me that Padma told her that-"

"We get the idea!" Tim snapped.

"I'm only _saying_, Timothy-"

"Shut _up_, you babbling she-demon!"

"She-demon? Better than a nasty little weed like you!"

"I'm a Paralysing Cuscuta," he retorted with a sneer. "Soon I'm going to wrap around your throat."

Pansy got a puzzled look on her face. "You're a paralysed _what_?"

"Cuscuta. Strangleweed. Witch's hair," Tim recited at her.

"What are you on about?"

"Don't you pay attention in Herbology?"

"Obviously not at much as you."

"Obviously."

There was a slight pause.

Tim spoke again, "So there."

"What do you mean?" she flamed.

"I just made you be quiet. Now be quiet."

"You don't make me do anything, Nott!"

And as the pair descended further into their bickering, Harry turned back to Millie and Crabbe. "It would be great to have everyone in Ancient Runes. I say you go for it."

"Let's go talk to Professor Snape," Millie said to Crabbe, and the pair hurried up to the High Table, where Professor Snape was casually sipping his tea.

"Who wants to volunteer to tell Tim that he's the only one who has to get up early every morning?" Jenna said softly to Harry.

Harry nearly choked on his juice. "You can," he sputtered. "Thanks."

"Oh, you're welcome!"

Harry was still mopping at his face as they picked up their bags and headed for the second floor classrooms. Arithmancy was taught by Professor Vector, and she waved them in eagerly as they opened her door.

"Come in, come in! Hurry, hurry! Time is wasting!" Professor Vector had a pleasant, no-nonsense voice. "And don't tell me you're early. Third year Slytherins, but where are the rest of you, then?"

"Bulstrode and Crabbe are switching out," Draco informed her.

"Switching _out_, did you say?" Professor Vector suddenly sounded extremely cross.

"Yes, ma'am," Draco nodded. "I tried to talk them out of it. I told them Arithmancy was a fascinating subject. Last year, Percy Weasley did this thing where he removed spilled ink from Harry's Charms essay. I knew right away that I had to take your class."

Professor Vector studied the pale boy for a second. She cocked her eyebrow and gave him a serious look. "I hope you're sincere in that statement, Mister Malfoy. Because I will test you in this subject. Arithmancy is a challenging branch of magic, and there is no room for fools in my class. All of you will be studying some of the most difficult concepts known to wizard and Muggle alike."

"Muggles?" questioned an incredulous Tim. "What have Muggles got to teach us about magic?"

"In the wider spirit of your question, I tell you that Muggles' brains work differently than our own, and sometimes they come to the most startling insights. Despite their general barbarity, there do exist many wise and learned Muggles. As to the more immediate point, Mister Nott, there is much that wizards _have_ learned about magic by understanding Muggle mathematics."

"Maths!" Harry exclaimed, completely dismayed.

"Indeed, Mister Potter," Professor Vector nodded to him. "Two points to Slytherin. Muggle engineering and science-"

She broke off, shaking her head. "Ah, clever Slytherins, getting the teacher to start the lecture before the other houses arrive."

"But-"

"Ah, ah, ah, Mister Nott," Professor Vector tutted, shaking her finger. "Take your seats. I'll explain myself soon enough."

Several heartbeats later, Terry, Padma, and Mandy strolled through the door. Immediately following them were a boy and girl Harry didn't know and the Chinese girl, Su Li. Terry, Padma, and Mandy joined the Slytherins, while the other three sat apart.

"Good morning, Slytherins," Terry said, plunking his bag down at a seat next to Blaise. "Lovely way to start the day, with a new lesson."

"I couldn't agree more," Tim echoed, sharpening his quill. "Ready for me to trounce you here like in every other subject?"

"As I recall, Nott," Terry said coldly, "You couldn't trounce trout at Transfiguration compared to me."

"Nice alliteration," Blaise complimented.

"Slytherin ego brings out my poetic side," he admitted. "Thankfully most of you have it under control."

"It's not ego, Boot, just acknowledgement of talent," Tim retorted.

"Delusions of grandeur, I call it."

"Who are they?" Harry asked of Padma, inclining his head towards the three Ravenclaws sitting by themselves.

"Michael Corner, Su Li, and Lisa Turpin. They're decent. Not as exciting as you Slytherins." Padma was smiling slightly.

The Hufflepuffs were next to arrive. Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones, both of whom were about as pureblooded as you could get, were walking in with Hannah Abbott, the very first girl to be sorted two years ago. Harry didn't associate much with the Hufflepuffs. He'd been unfortunate enough to overhear Macmillan gossiping about him last year during the whole Heir of Slytherin fiasco. Macmillan had been absolutely confident that Harry had set the basilisk on the school and killed Granger.

"Is he really such a great prat as I hear?" Harry asked Padma.

"He's a bit pompous, if that's what you mean. Very proper about everything. I talk to Susan every now and again, and she speaks well of him. I know he's smart. We share Potions with Hufflepuff, and Snape never has anything bad to say about his work. Of course he never says anything _good_ either, but-"

"-but it's Professor Snape," Harry finished for her, laughing a bit.

"Right," she said with a giggle.

Two Gryffindor girls arrived then, but Harry didn't know their names. Neither did his friends. Professor Vector knew them, and she greeted them by name.

"Geagan! Golding!" she barked. "You're late! Spare me your excuses! Just sit so I can begin."

The two girls hurried inside and took the first seats they came to. Professor Vector slammed the door shut and stalked to the front, muttering, "Switched out," under her breath. When she reached the front of the room, she turned to face them, and it seemed like nothing was wrong.

"Welcome to Arithmancy! I am Professor Vector, as you already know, and I thank you for choosing my class. Arithmancy is a challenging branch of magic, as complicated in its own way as Transfiguration. Similarly, there is no room for fools here. Those who are not serious would be wise to - switch out."

She levelled a piercing stare at every one of the third years in one sweeping gaze. Harry swallowed and sat a little straighter in his seat. If Professor Vector's intention was to get them to take Arithmancy seriously, she'd achieved it.

"You will be studying some of the most difficult mathematical concepts known to wizard and Muggle alike. There is much that we as wizards and witches have learned about magic and its innumerable applications by understanding Muggle mathematics.

"Muggle engineering and science rely exclusively on mathematics. It is their doorway of understanding into the natural power of the universe, which wizards control by manipulation of energy. Muggles can manipulate energy too, using the tools that their science and engineering have allowed them to develop. And at the core of it all is mathematics.

"Mister Malfoy earlier cited a textbook case of how Muggle mathematics has affected the application of magic. Suppose it's very late at night. You've just finished writing three scrolls of parchment for Professor Snape that's due in only a few hours. And your cat, or better yet, your best friend's cat, jumps up onto the desk, spills your inkwell, and gets ink all over your assignment.

Professor Vector grinned at them. "Who knows what Professor Snape is like when he's mad?"

Everyone raised their hands, some a little more hesitantly than others.

"Well we don't want that, do we? But if you do what our current Head Boy did, you apply some mathematics, that spilled ink will collect itself back up and return to the inkwell."

Several gasps of amazement were heard. Imagine the relief of not having to face Snape empty-handed with a big assignment due! Or old McGonagall. Harry knew then and there that he would study Arithmancy as hard as he could. There had to be a lot more that one could do with it with a little creativity.

"But we'll build to that. Arithmancy used to be simply a method of determining meanings out of names and letters converted to numbers, and adding numbers, and so on, and so on. It was a ghastly branch of magic, almost cousins with Divination.

"Then we discovered mathematics. Muggles developed it much earlier than wizards, you see, because they needed it. We had magic. The poor, unfortunate Muggles did not. But they evolved in their own way. Despite their general barbarity, there do exist many wise and learned Muggles. Muggles' brains work differently than our own, and sometimes they come to the most startling insights.

"So, as our learning began with mathematics, so too, shall yours. On my desk, please retrieve one scroll of parchment from that stack and begin the examination. We shall determine what you know."

to be continued...


	8. The Boggart

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Eight - The Boggart**

"An exam! On the first bloody day!" Draco was in full voice as the group of third year Slytherins walked from Arithmancy to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"She's evil," Pansy moaned of Professor Vector, rooting in her bag for a mirror.

"I hate feeling this dumb," Blaise complained.

"You're not dumb," Harry assured her.

"I'll prove it when she hands back those exams."

"I'm sure it's not as bad as it seems," Harry reassured her, despite feeling some doubts himself. He'd paid attention in Muggle school, but maths wasn't his forte.

"Put on a brave face," Jenna suggested.

"So, Blaise, did you hear about Amanda Bole?" Pansy asked in her gossipy voice, still checking her appearance in the hand mirror.

"No, what'd she do?" Blaise asked breathlessly, eager to hear about someone else's troubles.

"I heard at breakfast that McGonagall caught her out last night with Terence Higgs," Pansy confided to them with delight plain in her voice. That was juicy gossip, too; Higgs was the former team Seeker, and Bole was younger sister of a current team Beater.

"Oh my," Harry said. "If Bole finds out, he's going to flatten Higgs."

"Then we'll see a flattened Higgs by dinner," Blaise predicted. "I thought he was smarter than that."

"He wasn't thinking with his brain," Jenna giggled, sending Blaise and Pansy into a fit of snickering.

Professor Lupin was waiting for them when they arrived at the classroom. He looked just as shabby as he had at the feast, though he did have a more healthy colour about him. He smiled vaguely as they filed in and rummaged in his tatty briefcase for the roll. When he got to Harry's name, a brief, indescribable look crossed his face. The roll called, he began his lecture.

"Welcome to Defence class. Before I begin, I'd just like to know what you all think of your education in this subject to date. I was led to believe that it's been rather spotty."

Tim raised his hand.

"Timothy?"

"It's been worse than spotty, sir. Lockhart's classes were a load of rubbish; an entire year wasted. Professor Quirrell didn't stutter anything I couldn't have learned from reading the book. I consider us to have had no real Defence lessons ever."

Professor Lupin frowned. "Would the rest of you agree with that sentiment?"

"Yes, sir," they agreed.

"That is most troubling. Well, I'm afraid that scraps the plan I had for today. I can see we're going to need to start from the basics." The moustached professor seemed genuinely disappointed.

"No, sir!" Tim implored. "We'd be most interested in your lesson."

"Yes," Draco chimed in. "We're not entirely ignorant of the basics."

"What is the best way to deal with a gnome, Draco?"

"Sic a jarvey on it," the blond boy laughed. "And then you can blame it for where you learned to cuss so well."

Professor Lupin smiled. "Yes, that is a very effective method. Five points to Slytherin. Perhaps you are ready at that. Books away, then, and follow me. Today's lesson will be a practical one. You will need only your wands."

Everyone exchanged excited looks. They had never had a practical lesson except when Lockhart had turned a cage full of Cornish pixies loose on them before running like a scared porlock. Everyone's wand came out, and they all left their bags behind to follow Professor Lupin along the deserted corridor and around the corner. He led them down a second corridor and stopped right outside the staffroom door.

"Inside, please," Professor Lupin said, opening it and standing back.

The staffroom was a long, panelled room, full of old, mismatched chairs and overflowing bookshelves. The place was empty except for Professor Snape, sitting in a low armchair with a cup of tea in front of him. His eyes were glittering, and he seemed to be trying to disintegrate Professor Lupin with his stare alone.

Lupin ignored him. He beckoned the class towards the far and of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

"Nothing to worry about," their teacher assured them. "There's a boggart in there."

Harry's friends seemed to think that this _was_ something to worry about. The girls all looked anxious, while only Tim had an eager gleam in his eye.

"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks - I've even met one that had lodged itself into a grandfather clock. This one moved in at some point over the summer, and I asked that it be left to provide my third years with some practice.

"So, my first question to you is this: What is a boggart?"

Tim's hand shot up into the air.

"Timothy?"

"It's a shape-shifter, capable of assuming the form of whatever it thinks will frighten us the most."

"Excellent. So the boggart sitting in the darkness has not yet assumed a form. He does not know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.

"This means that we have an enormous advantage over the boggart before we even begin. Who can tell me what it is? Yes, Blaise?"

"There's a lot of us, Professor. How will it know what to change into?"

"Precisely. It's always best to have company when dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Should he become a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake; he tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug, which wasn't remotely frightening.

"The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, what really finishes a boggart is _laughter_. What you must do is force the boggart to assume a shape that you find amusing.

"We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please: _riddikulus_!"

"_Riddikulus!_" the class said together.

"Good! Very good! But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. The word alone is not enough. I'll need a volunteer. Gregory, how about you?"

Nervously, the bigger boy stepped forward and raised his wand. He jumped slightly as the wardrobe rattled again.

"Now then, Gregory, what would you say is the one thing in the world that frightens you most of all?"

Goyle's face blanched. "My grandmother," he said without hesitation.

"And what is it about her that terrifies you so much?"

"Whenever she sees me, she wants a kiss," Goyle said, scuffing his feet. "It's creepy."

"Can you think of any way to make your grandmother funny?"

Goyle thought hard for a few seconds. Then a smile crossed his face. "Yes," he said firmly.

"Very well, then. When the boggart bursts out of the wardrobe and sees you, it will assume the form of your grandmother. You will then raise your wand, like so, and cry 'Riddikulus', all the while concentrating hard on making her funny. If all goes well, you will be able to fend off the boggart. Are you ready?"

"No."

"If you are successful, the boggart will likely shift his attention to each of us in turn. I would like you all to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most and imagine how you might force it to look comical."

The room went quiet. Harry thought. What scared him the most?

His first thought was Lord Voldemort. The evil wizard had tried several times to kill him, and that was pretty scary. But before he could even start to think of a possible counter-attack, a horrible image came floating to the surface of his mind: a rotting, glistening hand, slithering back beneath a black cloak; a long, rattling breath from an unseen mouth; a cold so penetrating it felt like drowning.

Harry shivered, then looked around, hoping no one had noticed. Many people had their eyes shut tight. Draco was whispering, "There's nothing funny about being poor." Tim was chuckling to himself as he murmured, "A dragon, definitely."

"Everybody ready?" Professor Lupin asked.

Harry felt a lurch of fear. He wasn't ready. How could you make a dementor less frightening? But he didn't want to ask for more time, since everyone else was nodding and rolling up their sleeves.

"Gregory, we're going to back away and let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward. Everybody back now; give Gregory some room to work."

They retreated back against the walls, leaving Goyle all alone beside the wardrobe. He had pushed up his sleeves and held his wand at the ready.

"On the count of three," Professor Lupin said, pointing his own wand at the wardrobe. "One, two, three, _now_!"

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin's wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open, and out came a shrivelled old witch with a quivering, wart-covered chin. An obnoxious brown hat, more tattered than the Sorting Hat was slipping off her white hair. She held out knobby, trembling hands to Goyle.

"There's my sweet little grandson," she exclaimed in a quavering voice. "Give granny a big kiss, now!"

"Oh, that's revolting," Draco muttered to Harry.

Goyle didn't hesitate. He waved his wand and half-shouted, "_Riddikulus!_"

With a noise like the crack of a whip, Grandmother Goyle stumbled. There was a spark of light in the air, and suddenly the old witch's hat caught on fire! Goyle's laughter barked loudly in the otherwise silent room. The boggart paused, confused by the sound.

"Timothy!"

Goyle stepped back, a wide smirk on his face. Tim, resolutely holding his wand before him, moved forward. Goyle's grandmother suddenly ignored her burning hat and looked piercingly at Tim. With another loud crack, a circus clown was standing there!

The clown's face was painted white with red circles around its eyes and blue dots on its cheeks. Frizzy hair of an obnoxiously fluorescent red stuck out in all directions. A stack of pies hovered nearby, soon to be used, judging by the manic grin the clown was directing Tim's way.

As for Tim, he was staring at the clown with horror on his face. His wand shaking, but his voice strong, he shouted, "_Riddikulus!_"

With a sudden roar, the stack of pies turned into a rather largish red dragon! Everyone stepped back even further in amazement, but Tim held his ground. The dragon looked down at the clown and breathed a single jet of fire. Engulfed in flames, the clown screamed. With just the one quick searing, the dragon's head flashed down and engulfed its meal. It gave a loud burp, and Tim's laughter filled the room.

"Pansy!"

The dragon turned into a giant white marble chess piece - the Rook. Pansy bit her lip as the smooth surface began to ripple, and the tower unfolded into a rock monster! As it began to roar and stamp a bit, she cast the spell.

"_Riddikulus!_" she cried, and the creature began to shrink, getting smaller and smaller. It shrank to the ground, taking its place on a normal-sized chessboard.

"Blaise!"

The boggart turned into Blaise herself, wearing a tan witch's hat. On the front of the hat was blazoned, "DUNCE", and the boggart-Blaise's face was idiotically gleeful.

The real Blaise shrieked with horror and turned away. The dunce-Blaise began to cackle mindlessly, and Blaise's shoulders began to shake.

"Millie!" called Professor Lupin, as he also stepped forward to guide Blaise back to safety.

The loud crack came again, and suddenly there was another Millie in the room. The imposter was wearing a fancy dress, with her hair done up and make-up on. She looked dazzling, but the real Millie just looked sick.

"I hate dresses," she said firmly. "And I figured out how to beat this outcome a long time ago. _Riddikulus!_"

With a loud splash, the boggart-Millie was jumping into a mud puddle! The beautiful dress was ruined, the fancy get-up destroyed. Millie laughed along with everyone else.

"Jenna!"

It was impossibly horrible. Jenna had called up a dementor. Harry couldn't feel any of the effects of it - for reasons he could only speculate on - but Jenna could. She stumbled back, but raised her wand.

"_R-r-riddikulus!_"

Without warning, a wave of colour flashed into existence, and the dementor was covered in bright pink paint. Jenna laughed, as they all did. Dementors were awful, but somehow Jenna had found a way to make it funny.

"Well done, Jenna!" Professor Lupin cried. "Get away now! Vincent!"

Crabbe's presence caused the paint-covered boggart to become a mummy, which shambled around with its arms outstretched and gave a mighty roar.

"_Riddikulus!_" the boy shouted, his voice cracking as he cast the spell, and the mummy began to spin, unwinding its bandages, which collected into a nice pile on the floor.

"Draco!"

Draco's jaw was set as he stepped forward. The boggart, sensing a new fear, cracked and changed again. From his earlier mutterings, Harry gathered that Draco expected to see some reflection of being poor, but they were all shocked when the boggart turned into Lucius Malfoy! Draco's father was wearing tatty, grey prison robes. His feet were shackled, and he reached out pathetically to Draco. "Help me!"

Draco couldn't move. His wand was held in a loose grip as his hand dangled uselessly by his side. He stared at the boggart, incredulity plain in his face. He seemed frozen in place, petrified by his fear.

Fortunately Professor Lupin interfered at that moment, darting between Draco and the boggart. The boggart gave a loud crack and an silvery-white orb was hanging in the air in front of their teacher. "_Riddikulus_," he said almost lazily, and the orb became a balloon that was not tied off. With a rude sound, it flew around the room and crashed back into the wardrobe. The door closed, and silence reigned for a few moments.

"Well done, everyone. Five points to everyone who faced the boggart, five points more if you cast the charm correctly. Please write an essay on boggarts to be handed in on Tuesday. Dismissed."

Harry hadn't had a chance to have a go with the boggart, and for that he was privately glad. He wouldn't have to face a dementor now. But that he'd not had the chance still irritated him. He hung back as everyone filed back to the Defence classroom to gather books and bags.

"Yes, Harry?" Professor Lupin said to him, absently checking to see if Snape was still present - he was.

"Open it back up. I didn't get a go."

Professor Lupin tossed him a quizzical look. "Are you that eager to face down Lord Voldemort, Harry, that you must seek out his image where you find it?"

"No!" Harry was stunned to hear Professor Lupin say Voldemort's name. Professor Dumbledore was the only one, aside from Harry himself, who had ever spoken that name without fear.

"What is the problem, Lupin?" Professor Snape inquired, coming to Harry's aid.

"Harry seems to feel that I have slighted him by not letting him face the boggart."

"Why not?"

"I didn't think it would be in the best interest of the students, Severus, to come face to face with the awfulness of Lord Voldemort."

"Are you telling me there's no way to make the Dark Lord funny?" Snape demanded. "And why should He be the Dark creature that appears anyway? There are so many Dark creatures out there to choose from. Vampires, banshees," he gave as examples, "werewolves. There are dozens of dangerous creatures that children need to be protected from."

Professor Lupin glared at Snape. "I find that comment to be remarkably insensitive to Harry."

"He's right," Harry jutted in. "I'm not afraid of Voldemort."

"Obviously," Snape drawled, shooting a raised eyebrow at Professor Lupin. "You are aware, Lupin, that young Potter has twice now sought out the root of danger at this school and has both times found the Dark Lord at the centre of it all? He has not flinched, he has not wavered, and he stands here relatively unharmed. Shame on you for trying to coddle him. Do you want him defenceless should he encounter a boggart by chance?"

Professor Lupin's face was troubled. "Very well, Severus, since you seem so certain of Harry's abilities, I will allow it. I don't know what could possibly frighten him if Lord Voldemort doesn't, but I will not allow this to get out of hand."

Snape nodded, evidently satisfied. "Potter, proceed."

Well, now he had his chance, and Harry swallowed his misgivings. Not only his Defence instructor, but now also his Head of House was watching intently, scrutinizing his every move. He raised his wand and took a few steps toward the wardrobe. Professor Lupin quietly turned the knob, and with horrible grace, a dementor flowed out into the room.

It loomed over Harry menacingly, its face covered by that impenetrable black hood, but one glistening, greyish, slimy-looking, scabby, decaying hand reached towards him. He felt again the horrid chill inside him. His breath caught in his throat. The cold was deeper than his skin, inside his chest, inside his very heart. Harry could hear its horrible breathing, slow and rattling.

"_Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!_" A woman's terrified voice was screaming in his head.

"_Stand aside, you silly girl! Stand aside, now!_"

Harry felt his eyes roll back in his head, and he fell back, sprawling on the floor. Through a haze, he saw Professor Snape shout in surprise and jump directly between Harry and the dementor. Its attention caught, the boggart changed form again, and suddenly there was a wolf standing in the room!

It growled and prowled back and forth, rabid foam flecking its muzzle. It bayed horribly, and Harry felt shivers run down his spine, but Professor Snape didn't even blink.

"_Riddikulus!_" he said forcefully, and with a buzzing of hair clippers, suddenly the wolf had been shaved! Professor Snape's laugh was high and gleeful, sardonic if Harry understood the word properly, and the shaved wolf flinched back from the sound.

When it was back in its wardrobe again, the two professors turned to Harry himself. Professor Lupin was handing him a large piece of chocolate, which Harry eagerly devoured. Professor Snape was peering into his eyes with a lighted wand.

"He seems no worse for wear," Lupin said, evidently satisfied. "Happy, Snape?"

Snape glared at the other professor. "Yes," he sneered. "Now that Harry knows what his greatest fear is, he can learn to master it."

Lupin sighed, suddenly seeming very weary. "Can you stand, Harry? Do you need a visit to the hospital wing?"

"Yes and no, in that order," Harry replied, staggering to his feet. "I need food."

Harry manfully shook off any assistance and managed not to fall down as he made his way to the Great Hall for lunch. After he had told his tale to the other third year Slytherins, but before he'd even had a chance to eat his sandwich, a school owl came flapping in with a letter for Harry. It was a note instructing him to report to the Headmaster's office following the dinner hour.

"Could it be about the dementors?" Blaise wondered.

"Any thing's possible." Harry was too worn out from facing the awful things to even care any more. "Come on, we've got nap time with Binns."

At the appointed hour, Harry reluctantly peeled off from his group of friends and left the Slytherin dungeons, on his way up to the higher floors. Without too much trouble he found the large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle that marked the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"Toffee chip," he told it, and the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind it split in two to reveal a winding staircase. Harry took one step and was amazed as the stairs began to move automatically. It was like an escalator times ten. The wall thudded shut behind him, and he went up and up, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

He stepped off the stone staircase at the top and knocked twice.

"Come in!" came the invitation.

The door swung open on silent hinges, revealing a large, circular room. The place was beautiful, and full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat - the Sorting Hat.

Caught up in the splendour of the place, Harry couldn't help but look around. For his curiosity, Harry got a wonderful surprise. On a golden perch behind the door sat a magnificent, scarlet bird, about the size of a swan. It had beautiful golden plumage, a gold beak and gold talons. It glanced up at Harry and crooned a single note that reverberated through the room, filling Harry with a wonderful, indescribable feeling.

"I do believe Fawkes is saying hello, Mister Potter," the old man seated at the desk said by way of greeting.

Harry looked at the phoenix - for that's what it was, or Harry would drink from his inkwell - and smiled. "Hello. Fox, was it?"

"Close enough, I suppose. Close enough for Ministry work. So good of you to come, Mister Potter." The headmaster's voice was warm and cordial.

"I wasn't aware this was optional, sir," Harry joked lightly. He grinned largely to show the headmaster he was kidding. Harry had a suspicion about why he was here, though. He didn't let the elder wizard's kindly tones cloud his head.

"Do sit down. Settled back in, I trust? How did you enjoy your first day of Arithmancy?"

"Well, I thought it might be my new favourite subject," he admitted. "But then I found out it was all maths. It wasn't my best subject in Muggle school, sir."

Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "It is indeed a most fascinating subject, mathematics. But certainly not for everyone. Will you stick with it, then?"

"Of course," Harry said immediately. "I think it's a subject worth knowing about."

"Good," the old wizard nodded approvingly. "It is only through our challenges that we grow to realize our potential."

"Yes, sir."

"Challenges come in many forms, Harry. Not all of them are academic. Many challenges exist in the real world and in how we deal with the people around us." Dumbledore was now giving Harry a knowing expression. "I trust you understand?"

Somehow - Harry couldn't even wonder - Dumbledore knew what he had done to the Dursleys and Aunt Marge. Harry ignored a sudden stab of fear; surely the Headmaster wouldn't help get him arrested!

"Yes, sir," he said stiffly. His brain was working very quickly now.

"I don't know how the cover-up was achieved, but it was a very neat job of it. Not neat enough, however. What you did was very serious, Harry. I wonder if you know how much." The old man sounded disappointed.

"It was serious," Harry agreed with a nod. "I wonder if _you_ know how much."

Dumbledore looked startled at Harry's hard tone. "I beg your pardon, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath. There was no taking back the words he was about to say. He summoned up all his eloquence.

"You know what happened that night. I don't know how, but it doesn't matter. You were watching me. And you've been watching me all along."

Harry took another deep breath. There. He'd said it.

"That is a very interesting opinion, Mister Potter. I assume you have some evidence to this effect?"

"I have old copies of the Daily Prophet. _Someone_ tipped them off that I'd been abducted, which is the most ludicrous charge ever levelled."

Dumbledore was watching Harry very closely. His eyes did not twinkle, and his eyebrows were furrowed. "I will admit, Harry, I did not expect you to unravel it all so thoroughly."

"So you were."

"Yes."

"And what do you have to say about it all?

"'All', Harry?"

"Them!"

"Who?"

"The Muggles!"

"All of them?"

"The ones you left me with!" Harry shouted, growing infuriated with the old man's obstinateness. He felt his breath start to come a little faster.

"They have names, Harry."

"They're Muggles!"

"They are still people," Dumbledore said reprovingly.

"People don't treat other people like that!" He shouted again, rising to his feet in his outrage. "Yes! Yes, I hexed the Muggles! Do you know why? Because they were saying the most awful, disgusting things about my mum and dad! They called them drunks, the hypocrites! They said my father didn't work! She called him a lazy scrounger! She said my mum had bad blood! She had magical blood! She was special! I couldn't stand it any longer, and I hexed them good!

"But what about you? If you were watching me, then you had to have known how those Muggles treated _me_. Did you know? Did you? They made me sleep in a cupboard under the stairs! I spent most of my first ten years in the dark! You _did_ know!" he shrieked with sudden remembrance. His voice cracked shrilly. "The first Hogwarts letter was addressed to me _under the stairs_! That's why I got Dudley's second bedroom!"

"I'm glad you remember his name, Harry."

"I'm not done yet!" Harry was past caring about rudeness now. A dam had burst within him, and all of his pent-up rage and anguish was pouring out.

"You wronged me!" Harry accused, pointing a shaking finger at the old wizard. "I hate you! Nobody should have to go through what I did! Why did you leave me with Muggles? Wizards belong with wizards! There's a Ministry Act in my name, and I wish it could have helped _me_!"

Harry's chest rose and fell in rapid time, matched by a heartbeat thudding against his ribs. He was quite liking the sensation of telling the old man off. "I'd recite the list of what they did to me, but I don't feel like puking all over your desk. I have some respect for this office, after all," he said with a nod towards the portraits of the past Headmasters, who were all wide awake now, hanging on the edge of their frames to catch every single word.

Dumbledore looked very old suddenly. A weariness passed over his eyes, and he turned his face away. "I could tell you that it was all for the best, Harry. And indeed it was. But only in my opinion. Professor McGonagall tried to warn me about the Dursleys, but I did not listen to her."

"McGonagall!" Harry blinked with surprise.

"Yes," Dumbledore said without further elaboration. "I know it was a hard life, Harry, and my regret for that is beyond your measure. Circumstances, however, do not always give us good options. Sometimes, we must choose the best of several bad alternatives"

"You're not making any sense!"

The old wizard nodded. "I know. One day you will understand, but it is not today. Suffice to say that I fully comprehend your anger, and I know that it is justified. However, I cannot apologize. I hope in time, you can learn to forgive me."

"You can't forgive someone who isn't sorry," Harry snapped.

"No, I suppose not," the Headmaster sighed. "And seeing as you're not sorry for what you did either, despite the hexing of Muggles being a very serious offence in the eyes of the Ministry, I feel I have no choice but to issue you a detention. You will report to Mister Filch's office on Saturday evening after dinner."

"Maybe you think so," Harry said with a hard glare. "There are those who think it's more serious to confine an innocent wizard against his will. I wasn't at school at the time. I wasn't even wearing school robes. Go ahead and give me detention. I won't show up."

With that final declaration, Harry turned on his heel and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him. His ears felt hot, and his tongue was tripping over itself in its haste to turn a vulgar phrase. Several of his expeletives were spontaneous sequences that he strung together for the alliterative quality. He decided that he was quite pleased with "crack-potted camel-kisser", so much so that he repeated it and continued adding vulgarity with each repetition.

to be continued...


	9. Grudge Match

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Nine - Grudge Match**

When Professor Vector handed back their examinations the next morning, Harry looked at all the red ink with dismay. He'd done his best to sit up front and pay attention in Muggle school, having figured out early that the best way to escape Privet Drive would be through his education. His occasional magical accidents hadn't made him friends with the teachers though, so he'd still had a rough time of it.

"Ugh," he said, showing his parchment to Draco. "Thirty-seven."

"That's disgusting," his best mate replied.

Professor Vector was back at the front of the classroom now. "All in all, a dismal performance," she said deploringly. "With!" she added, "a few notable exceptions." She was now giving Harry a wide smile. "Fifteen points to Slytherin for Harry Potter's impressive knowledge of geometry. Fifteen points to Ravenclaw, Miss Turpin, for excellent use of short-hand division to save time and work on more questions."

"Wow!" Blaise exclaimed behind him. "Fifteen points, Harry!"

"But-" he said blankly, holding his parchment in one hand.

"Thirty-seven?" Tim whispered loudly. "How?"

Tim's paper had a large numeral twenty across the top. Blaise and Jenna scored in the low teens. Draco had barely scraped into double digits, and poor Pansy had a fat goose egg.

"What!" Terry Boot exclaimed, reaching for the parchment. "Inconceivable!" He read the score for himself, and began swearing under his breath in short, clipped words.

Nobody other than Tim and Terry had scored higher than sixteen. Both of the boys were giving Harry speculative looks now. Tim scratched his chin and considered Professor Vector, who was watching them closely.

The remainder of the class was spent going over the first few questions from the exam. Professor Vector laboured to explain the concept of angles to them, and Harry, who understood it well, earned more points for Slytherin.

Arithmancy wasn't nearly so exciting as Harry had expected. In truth, it was proving to be quite a bore. After seeing the cool things that could be done with Arithmancy, he was very impatient to get to the good stuff. Luckily, Ancient Runes seemed a bit more to his tastes. Professor Babbling's opening lecture on the origin of runes was fascinating.

"Odin, the Norse High God of the Aesir, hung from the world tree, Yggdrasil, impaled on his own spear, for nine days and nights in order to gain the knowledge of runes. When the runes appeared below him, he reached down and took them up, and the runic knowledge gave him power. He later passed on this knowledge to the Vanir goddess Freya. She, in turn, taught him the magic of seidr. Heimdall, the god who guarded the Rainbow Bridge, taught the runes to mankind.

"Each rune has a story attached to it, a relationship to a Norse God. Since ancient times, runes have been used for writing, divination, and magic. The word 'rune' actually means mystery, secret, or whisper. Each rune has esoteric meanings and properties associated with it, beyond its mundane meaning and phonetic value. Each translates into a word or a phrase signifying concepts important to the early peoples who used them, representing the forces of nature and mind.

"The runes can be used as an oracle, from which one seeks advice. Runic divination is not so-called fortune telling in the sense that one actually sees the future. Instead, runes give one a means of analysing the path that one is on and a likely outcome. The future is not fixed. It changes with everything one does. If one does not like the prediction, one can always change paths.

"The runes can also be used to cast magic or to enhance other magicks. We will deal with all of this in due course, I assure you. For today, though, we will start with learning the basics of the Elder Futhark."

Professor Babbling used a wooden pointer to indicate the first of many runes inscribed at the top of the blackboard. "Fehu, meaning domestic cattle or wealth."

And so it went on. On the whole, Harry was not impressed with his new classes. Far from being advanced classes where new and exciting magic was taught, it seemed as though his new professors were trying to bore them with mundaneness. Harry was resolved to tough it out, though. Though he admitted it only begrudgingly, he understood that he needed to learn to walk before he could run.

After dinner that evening, Harry and the others avoided all mention of school work. It seemed all anyone wanted to talk about was the Quidditch match planned for tomorrow morning between the third year Slytherins and Gryffindors.

"I can't wait to smash Weasley up!" Draco exclaimed. "You'll obviously be playing Seeker, Harry."

"Obviously," Harry agreed. "I think Crabbe and Goyle would be best suited for Beating."

"Flint _did_ try to recruit us," Crabbe chimed in.

"Exactly," Tim nodded. "Draco and I will play Chaser, so that just leaves Millie and Jenna to fight over who gets stuck being Keeper."

"I'm going to Chase," Millie declared, in a tone that brooked no argument. "And I'm more than ready to thrash them all."

"I don't mind playing Keeper," Jenna said with a shrug. "It won't matter, so long as Harry catches that Snitch."

"I'll be there to cheer you on, Harry," Blaise smiled at him. "I can't wait to see how fast your new broom can go."

"Two-forty. In ten seconds."

"Wow."

The next morning, all the boys were up at the crack of dawn. When the alarm bell went off, Harry instantly slapped his hand down to silence it. His eyes snapped open as one word crossed his mind.

_Quidditch._

Wordlessly, Harry grabbed his toothbrush and morning kit. Draco was moving slowly, but he was moving. Tim was rooting in his trunk for a towel. Even the great sleepers, Crabbe and Goyle, were rousing.

The Slytherin bathroom was supposedly the nicest at Hogwarts, aside from those baths off-limits to all but the prefects. The floor was tiled with a pattern of silver and green, the house colours. The long row of sinks mounted on the near wall had bright silver handles. The shower stalls that lined the far wall had highly decorated curtains with beautiful mythological scenes.

Ever so briefly Harry dipped his head under the spray. A dab of shampoo in his left hand was quickly scrubbed through the mop of black hair that lately had a mind of its own. When it had barely begun to lather, his head went back under the spray. He ignored the conditioner and ran the bar of soap lightly over his limbs. He certainly didn't get _all_ his skin, but he at least followed the motions. Washing off quickly, he wrapped his towel around his waist and moved to the sink to brush his teeth.

He was just rinsing his mouth when Tim finished his shower and stepped up to the sink. Before he could say a word, though, the door opened and Draco came shambling in. He grunted vaguely at them and immediately moved towards the shower. Harry rolled his eyes, and Tim suppressed a quiet snort.

"Ready to humiliate Gryffindor?" Tim inquired.

"Absolutely. They've got nobody who can beat me as Seeker, so we win, hands-down. I have no idea why Parvati even agreed to this."

"She loves Quidditch," Tim shrugged. "I'd do the same, in her place, and fight my hardest despite the odds."

"You seemed to be getting on quite well with her at the show," Harry said slyly, throwing all kinds of suggestion into the sentence.

"We share a common hatred for Parkinson. It's strange to have things in common with a Gryffindor, but Patil's not too stupid."

"I'm sure she'd love to hear that," Harry said pointedly.

"Not what I mean. I mean she's not too annoyingly Gryffindorish for her own good. She knows how to have a good time. Did you see her moves at the show?"

"How could I have missed them?" Parvati's dancing had been absolutely wild. Several times it had seemed like she was dancing _with_ Tim, but it was far too outrageous to be sure.

"I want to see if she's got the same moves in the air. Do you know what sort of broom she flies?"

"I don't," Harry admitted. "I know what her house team flies, but she's not on the team."

"She ought to be," Tim complemented _in absentia._ "I'm looking forward to facing her on the pitch."

Tim started brushing his teeth then, and Harry was finished with his ablutions. "I'll see you back in the dorm."

Harry passed Crabbe and Goyle on their way to the showers. Back in the dorm, he rummaged in his trunk for his gear. He felt his excitement building as he put on his Quidditch robes; he would be the only one on the pitch today wearing official robes. He pulled out his Firebolt and rubbed the polishing cloth over the brilliant handle to pass the time, knowing that it didn't really need shining.

After he'd gotten dressed, Tim cleared his throat. "Harry, I've got a favour to ask of you. It's pretty big to me, but I can't imagine that you'll be very concerned."

"What is it, Tim?"

"Can I borrow your old Nimbus?" Tim pleaded. "Draco's Comet is still a decent broom, but mine is just pathetic. It's a functional broom, not a racing broom. I'd rather go nick one of the Tinderblasts from the broom shed than use it. If you let me use the Nimbus, we'll have a much better chance of victory."

Victory over Gryffindor, and seeing Weasley probably cry about it; he'd buy Tim and the whole gang new brooms to see it happen. If only he'd thought of that beforehand. "Of course, Tim. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

Tim made a face. "I spent the whole summer trying to get my dad to buy me a new broom. He was always up in his laboratory, doing magic stuff. I like to work with my dad, but we spent three days up there, without food or water. I couldn't take it any more. He's really close to figuring out the applications of ten, and I couldn't drag him out of the house. I did my school shopping with my pocket change, but I couldn't afford a broom. I hate to ask for money, but-"

"Don't even think about it," Harry said at once. "Consider it yours."

Tim was suitably humble. "Thanks, Harry. You're a good friend."

"Just don't get a scratch on it. My Quidditch gear, my broom, what's next? My spot on the team?"

"I don't think I'd be good as Seeker," Tim replied, nonplused. "But when you're captain of the team, you can assign positions. I want to be a Chaser."

"It's going to be at least sixth year before I'm captain!"

"Yes, and sixth year before I get a spot," Tim groused. "Unless one of the others up and _dies_."

"Small chance there."

Harry sometimes forgot that he was the youngest Seeker that Hogwarts had seen in a century. Bole, Derrick, Bletchley, and all the rest were great lads, and they tended to be a rowdy bunch, but they weren't his mates. When the older boys had left school, Harry would be left to rebuild the team. He wanted to play with his mates, to fly high and claim glory for Slytherin. Harry Potter, Quidditch Captain. It had a nice ring to it.

"You'll have to prove your worth," Harry cautioned his friend. "I won't have players who can't pull their weight."

"I'll show you today," Tim promised.

Millie and Jenna were waiting for the boys in the common room. Though Jenna still looked sleepy, Harry was sure she'd be fine after a large cup of coffee. He could use one himself, actually. Everyone shouldered their brooms as they made the long trek upstairs to the Great Hall where breakfast awaited them.

Weasley and the other Gryffindors arrived shortly after. Thomas, Finnigan, and Brown all looked tired, but Weasley and Parvati were very alert. And to round out the team-

"Hey boys, reduced to playing with ickle kiddies?" Jenna sing-songed to the Weasley twins.

The two fifth-years flashed very unfriendly scowls towards the Slytherin table, but were apparently unwilling to start in this early. They sat down facing the Slytherins, eating their food in an almost grim manner. Harry imagined some strange juxtaposition, where the twins were trolls snacking on the bones of his fellow Slytherins, so awful were their expressions.

The door to the Great Hall opened again, this time admitting some Ravenclaws. Padma, Terry, and Mandy Brocklehurst all seemed bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. That was normal, even for this awful hour. Mandy had told them last year that many in Ravenclaw didn't like to waste even an hour of the day and rose with the sun.

"What about when the sun doesn't rise until mid-day?" Jenna had asked.

"Then we study in darkness," had been Mandy's laughing reply.

Harry thought it quite sporting of their friends in Ravenclaw to turn out for the show. He waved his greeting, as his mouth was full of eggs.

Just then, a group of third-year Hufflepuffs wandered in. Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. Hufflepuffs had no business here this early. Now the second-year Slytherins were arriving too!

"Good morning, Harry," Laine said sweetly, as she sat down next to him.

"Good morning, Laine. I've never seen you up this early."

"Well, we had to come see you humiliate the Gryffindors. Last night, Ginny told us that her brother told her that Parvati Patil had sent an owl during the summer to inform him about a Quidditch match against those evil Slytherins. Naturally, he jumped at the chance."

"And then he spent the rest of the summer gloating about how he and the boys were going to smash you," Ginny added. "She just asked Fred and George to sign on during the train ride. It seems she couldn't fill a team from her own form."

"Our idea, actually," Harry told her. "We wanted a bit of sport."

"Well, word has rather spread," Ginny observed. "Look."

More students were coming through the double doors. Ravenclaws, Slytherins, Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs, of every form. The house team had arrived, and Flint came swaggering up to Harry with a wide grin on his face.

"Well done, Potter! No better way to kick off the year than with a Quidditch match!"

Harry was feeling slightly alarmed at this point. "Does the whole school know about it?"

"Pretty much. Is it true that the Weasley twins are going to be playing?"

"Yes."

"That rumour is drawing a lot of them," Flint explained. "They're wicked with those bats, you know."

"I know," Harry nodded.

"Well, do your best flying. I don't suppose it much matters about the rest of the positions, so long as you catch that Snitch."

"The rest of the positions do _so_ matter!" Tim said heatedly. "We're going to rack up the points against whoever thinks he can play Keeper!"

"That's the spirit!" Flint exclaimed. "I'll be watching!"

"Hear that, Tim? The captain of the team is going to be watching!" Harry was trying to be encouraging to a now anxious-looking Tim.

Despite his pallor, Tim's voice was strong. "I need to be impressive out there."

"We all do," Draco said. "But we're Slytherins."

"Up Slytherin!" they cheered together.

The stands were packed. Most of the school, and even some of the professors, had turned out of the castle to see this grudge match. It felt almost real - no, it _was_ real.

Harry, with his experience, had been unanimously chosen to act as captain of their squad. He waited in the centre of the Quidditch pitch for the Gryffindors to join them. At last Weasley, Finnigan, Thomas, and the twins came marching up, with Brown and Patil taking long strides to keep up. Weasley stepped forward, staring hard at Harry. Reluctantly, he offered his hand. Harry took it, squeezed it, tried to ignore Weasley attempting to break all the bones in his hand and do the same right back.

"That's enough, boys," Madam Hooch said curtly. She had been waiting for them on the pitch, telling them all in no uncertain terms that she would be officiating their little match.

"Mount your brooms!" She released the Golden Snitch, which buzzed by Harry's head before disappearing. "I'm releasing the Quaffle, now!"

And the game was on!

Somehow Weasley managed to get his hands on the Quaffle first. He snatched it away from Millie and tore off up the pitch. Tim, riding Harry's Nimbus 2000, easily outpaced him and intercepted the throw he made at the middle hoop. He flashed past the red-haired boy, who was cursing soundly. Tim manoeuvred neatly between Finnigan and Patil, sending the Quaffle soaring past Brown's outstretched hands through the left hoop.

"Ten to naught, Slytherin!" came the voice of Padma Patil from the announcer's booth. The regular commentator, Lee Jordan of Gryffindor, was sitting next to her and looking mightily put out that he'd been booted off of the megaphone. With this match not being official, officially, his job had been usurped. Harry was just as glad to have someone relatively neutral calling the plays.

Finnigan took the Quaffle from Brown and passed it to Weasley, who passed it back again. The two kept it away from Patil, who looked very irritated that the boys were being so selfish. Draco tucked in behind Weasley and sidled up between the two Gryffindors. With a hard check, he knocked Weasley aside and neatly caught Finnigan's toss. Draco brought the Quaffle back up the pitch to score again.

Harry cheered with the rest of his house as Padma calmly reported the score. "Brown sends the Quaffle out to Patil, Patil dodges a Bludger, dodges Weasley, who somehow thinks he's going to get the Quaffle after not passing to Patil at _all_ on that last scoring attempt. Weasley gets hit with a Bludger - hope it didn't hurt _too_ much. Patil and Finnigan pass it back and forth - oh! Intercepted by Nott! Nott to Malfoy, Malfoy to Bulstrode, back to Malfoy, back to Bulstrode, Slytherin scores! Keeper Brown just couldn't get there in time!"

So far, the third years were doing Slytherin proud.

Crabbe and Goyle had their hands full dealing with the Weasley twins. The boys were outmatched, that was clear. Instead of spreading out to cover the field effectively, the best mates drifted around in a loose formation. Harry had to dodge a Bludger that one of the pair should have been taking care of.

"Oi!" he shouted, flying closer. "Spread out! Goyle, get your arse down past mid-pitch!"

Draco had possession of the Quaffle, and he tried to get around Weasley for an easy shot on the hoop - Brown was out of position again. Weasley, though, turned sharply and slammed his elbow into Draco's chest, causing him to drop the Quaffle. As it floated gently down, Weasley flipped over and scooped it into his arms.

Boos arose from the Slytherin section at the rough play. Harry thought it a mite hypocritical - Slytherin certainly knew how to play dirty. He aimed his broom towards Weasley, dodged a Bludger, and began to loop around Weasley in a lazy spiral.

"Hi there, dung heap!" he called cheerily. "Off to throw the Quaffle, then? Good luck, sport!"

"Shut up, Potter!" Weasley shouted, and he took his eyes off the hoops to glare at Harry.

Crabbe made powerful contact with a Bludger, and Harry saw it out of the corner of his eye. He judged that he had a few seconds before it arrived. He moved to block Weasley's line of sight.

"It's only a game, Weasley!" Harry laughed, and he jerked the handle of his broom upward.

The Bludger he'd been masking slammed into Weasley's back with a meaty thunk. He dropped the Quaffle, and Harry lunged at it, spinning quickly and thwacking the red ball out into Tim's waiting hands.

Thirty, forty, fifty points Slytherin scored. Finally Weasley got it into his head to pass the Quaffle to Patil, and the three Chasers managed to get into some sort of rhythm. They brought the Quaffle down into scoring position for the first time. Finnigan got the shot off, and Jenna, faked out by Patil, missed the save.

"Gryffindor scores! Fifty-ten, Slytherin!"

Thomas, playing Seeker, was flying desperately all over the pitch. He apparently believed that his team's best chance to win was an early capture of the Snitch, a belief Harry shared. Reluctantly, he took his eyes off the main game and began to search for the Snitch.

"Thomas is tailing Potter now, obviously failing to find the Snitch on his own. I don't know how he thinks he'll ever beat Potter to it, though. For those who haven't heard, Potter is riding a prototype Firebolt!" The crowd made noises of collective amazement. "If you saw it on display in Diagon Alley, you know it has a top speed of two-forty in ten seconds. Come on, Potter! Show us what that broom can do!"

Harry flashed Padma a smile as he zoomed by the announcer's box. He arched into the sky and dove, like a hunting hawk. He applied the brake sharply, then sprang back, twisting in a tight corkscrew. The crowd was suitably impressed with these moves, and Harry played it up for them.

Jenna made two more saves, but several shots were getting by her, and Gryffindor was catching up. Tim must have taken offence at that, for he and Millie double-teamed Finnigan, guiding him not very gently into the wall. Gryffindor booed at this, but the Slytherins cheered loudly.

Finnigan managed to hang onto his broom, but he slid down the wall and landed in a heap on the grass. He shook it off, though, and kicked off back into the air. He caught the Quaffle as Patil passed it, and he dodged around Jenna to score again.

Weasley was not flying as fast as he had been. The hits he'd taken from Bludgers were taking their toll. Draco had been tagged several times, as had Millie. Tim was nimble enough on Harry's Nimbus to avoid everything sent his way.

"Look at that fine manoeuvring by Nott!" Padma exclaimed. "You don't see that sort of skill every day! And what's that he's riding? Why, it's a Nimbus 2000! Nimbus and Firebolt, the best brooms in the world! Do we really wonder why it's one-twenty to seventy, Slytherin?"

Tim, Draco, and Millie launched into one of the more insane attack patterns that Harry knew. He'd spent a lot of time showing his friends this trick from Flint's playbook and was rightly proud of the beauty of their form. The three were passing the Quaffle as they sped towards the far hoops in a rotating spiral. Harry saw Flint on his feet cheering as the Quaffle soared through the hoops again - it was his own play.

Better teamwork on the part of the Slytherin Chasers was gradually widening the score. Harry looked for the Snitch as goal after goal was scored. He was enjoying this so much that he almost didn't want the match to end - almost. He looked around again for the Snitch, which did not seem to want to come and play today.

It was easy enough to find the Snitch on a normal day, but when the sun was shining so bright and hot, Harry could spot the shimmer of gold that flashed around the pitch in mere minutes. So far, Harry had not seen it at all.

It happened so suddenly, that Harry wasn't sure how it started. It was so very odd. An eerie silence descended over the stadium. It was as though someone had magically turned off the sound, as if he had gone deaf. What the heck was going on?

Just then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over him, inside him, just as he became aware of something moving on the field below. Harry looked and instantly wished he hadn't. At least a hundred dementors were moving onto the pitch, gliding along the ground as though they had no legs at all. It was as though freezing cold water were rising in his chest, cutting at his insides. And then he heard it again - someone was screaming, a woman was screaming inside his head.

_"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

_"Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside, now."_

_"Not Harry, please not, take me, kill me instead-"_

Numbing, swirling white mist was filling Harry's brain. What was he doing? Why was he flying? He needed to help her. She was going to die - be murdered!

He tipped and fell off his broom, and it seemed as though he were falling through an icy mist.

_"Not Harry! Please! Have mercy! Have mercy!"_

A shrill voice was laughing, the woman was screaming, and Harry knew no more.

"Lucky the ground was so soft."

"I thought he was dead for sure."

"But he didn't even break his glasses."

Harry could hear the voices whispering, but they made no sense whatsoever. He didn't have a clue where he was or how he'd gotten there or what he'd been doing before he got there. All he knew was that every inch of him was aching as though it had been beaten with a stick.

"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life."

Scariest - the scariest thing - hooded black figures - cold - screaming!

Harry's eyes snapped open. He was lying in the hospital wing - he recognized the pattern of cracks in the ceiling. All of his friends were crowded around the bed.

"Harry!" Blaise cried, squeezing his hand tightly. "Oh, thank Merlin!"

"Thank Madam Pomfrey," Tim corrected her, bowing to the matronly witch. "She's a miracle worker."

"I've patched this boy up a few times," the nurse said ruefully. "He doesn't learn from his experiences."

"Nothing could have prepared him for _that_," Tim said, blanching slightly.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"The dementors stormed the pitch," Draco answered. "We were all able to get to the ground, but you just sort of fell off. I was looking right at you, and your eyes rolled back something awful. It was just like on the train."

"My broom?" _Please, tell me nothing happened to my broom!_

"I have it," Tim said, setting his mind at ease. "That broom is incredible. When it realized that there was no longer a rider, it just sank straight down to the ground and hovered."

"What about the dementors?"

"Oh, Dumbledore was furious!" Blaise said gleefully. "He ran right onto the pitch as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot some of that silver stuff at them, just like Professor Lupin did on the train. They left the stadium right away, but Dumbledore hurried them along. Then he magicked up a stretcher and walked you up here personally. Harry, we all thought you were dead!"

"It takes more than a simple fall to kill me," Harry joked.

"Not if you go head first," Jenna observed. "Which you nearly did."

to be continued...


	10. Halloween In Hogsmeade

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Ten - Halloween in Hogsmeade**

Harry toiled away in the library, working on his Ancient Runes assignment. He would rather have been studying Potions or Defence; Runes certainly wasn't his favourite subject, and not for the last time he wished learning the basics wasn't so tedious. He dipped his pen in the inkwell and drew a neat Ingwaz.

A flash of blonde hair caught and drew his eye. Blaise had tossed her head, sending her curls flying. Harry watched now as she caught her lower lip between her teeth while she penned her own quill with a neatness and precision Harry still had yet to master. One blonde curl kept falling into her face, and she would twirl it around her finger for awhile before hooking it behind her ear. A minute or so later, the whole sequence would play out again.

She glanced up at him, as if she felt his eyes resting on her. Harry felt blood creep into his face and immediately stared down at his parchment. He dared to peek up, though, and Blaise giggled merrily and smiled warmly at him. He blushed again.

Harry hadn't known quite how to act around his friend ever since he'd heard her tell the other girls that she wanted to kiss him. She'd kissed him before, of course, at Christmas and on other special occasions, but it was an open secret that Blaise wanted to kiss Harry in a romantic way, that she wanted Harry to kiss her. Therein lay part of the confusion. It wasn't that Harry didn't like Blaise. He quite thought the world of her. She was warm, caring, loyal, and very, very smart. Did that mean he wanted to kiss her? Harry didn't know.

Ever since they'd eavesdropped on the girls on the train, the blokes had been constantly, though privately (away from the girls), having a go at Harry about snogging with Blaise. Fortunately Harry could fire right back at Tim with digs about Pansy and Jenna. Unfortunately, none of the girls seemed interested in Draco, so his grief went on uninterrupted. The only positive side was that he took as much pleasure from baiting Tim as he did Harry. The constant mentioning of the situation kept it prominently in his thoughts, and he worried a great deal about the prospect of doing such a teenaged thing as snogging.

Tangentally connected to his musings over girls and how complicated they all seemed to be, they'd had a bit of excitement a week into term when Harry had received a package from Wand Smasher that held signed copies of their group photos from the show. Tim and Millie did much gloating and showing off in the Slytherin common room, as did Parvati in Gryffindor as well. Harry himself had a note written by the band's manager that granted him and one guest free entry and backstage access to any show on the current tour. A list of dates was included. One guest ought to have implied one of his mates, but his dawning awareness of girls was leading his imagination down all kinds of paths instead.

Should he ask Blaise to go with him over the holiday break? She had expressed an interest in going when she'd heard about the first show during the summer, but only after Harry had decided to go. Would she say yes even if he did ask her? She'd admitted her butterflies to the other girls (and, inadvertently, the boys) on the train. If he confronted her on her crush, what would she do? Did he even want to find out?

Aside from girl trouble and the blokes trying to wind each other up about it, Harry's days were all in all very routine. He went to classes, studied his books, and listened with interest to the tales from the subjects he wasn't taking - such as the first Care of Magical Creatures class where, Millie breathlessly reported, Hagrid had brought out hippogryffs. He laughed with the others when Crabbe shared that Professor Trelawney (Divination) had predicted that Ronald Weasley would suffer an altogether messy demise. Before long he had choir meetings and Quidditch practices as well. Tim's birthday at the beginning of October was an excuse to stay up late and eat too much cake, as was Millie's three weeks later.

Everything was almost normal enough that Harry could have let himself believe that there wasn't an escaped murderer out in the world somewhere looking for him. While Harry never forgot about Sirius Black and how he had betrayed the Potter family, he didn't let his desire for vengeance consume him. The time would come, he realized, and then nothing could prevent it. Harry would kill Black eventually.

But until that happened, Harry studied his spells and learned whatever he thought might be useful. He did his best to get through his days without giving in to the urge to hex Weasley's mouth shut permanently and waited patiently for Professor Trelawney's prediction to come true. The great prat seemed unable to learn the lessons that Harry and his friends had tried so often to teach him.

The boy simply would not shut up about the dementors. Whenever he saw Harry, Weasley would mime a fainting spell. Other times, he and the other Gryffindors would wave their hands in front of them and make spooky noises meant to imply dementors. It was irritating in the extreme, but there were ways of getting back at him.

Harry had broken the news to the Hogwarts grapevine that Arthur Weasley was now driving the Knight Bus. While it wasn't as bad as working in the Centaur Liason Office (which he also did, the driving job being a second source of income for the family), it certainly wasn't what you said you wanted to do when you grew up. Predictably, Ronald nearly burst blood vessels in his face when news reached him of what gossip was floating around the school. Short of stamping around the castle like a cross troll, however, there was little he could do to deny it. After all, it was true.

Something also true, to Weasley's persistant and vocal displeasure, was that his sister Ginny had settled into Slytherin House so smoothly that even Harry was amazed by how well his plan had worked. Draco took endless pleasure in reminding Weasley of it, too, every chance he got. His favourite parting taunt at the Gryffindor was a promise to give his sister greetings when next he saw her. Weasley remained convinced that the evil Slytherins had brainwashed her, but Ginny was actually doing quite well in Slytherin.

Ginny had gained the patronage of Laine Slater, who was the leader of her little gang, and both of the Slater twins had always been quite keen on Harry. Because he had asked it of her, Ginny could not have had a better ally than Laine Slater. The house would not soon forget Laine laying into Erika Chabré when the fourth year had chanced to snidely comment about homeless Weasleys in her hearing. Laine's crackling vituperation probably still echoed in some far reaches of the dungeons. Laine had squashed all opposition from within the house with her public display of friendship, and the blissful expression Harry saw on Percy's face made him feel like a bag of Galleons.

Despite the grim events that might have been omens of a bad year, if you believed in that sort of thing, which Harry, after hearing Jenna scorn Divination, did not, somehow there was cheerfulness at the castle. Everyone seemed to have recovered from the immediate presence of dementors. After the attack at the beginning of the school year, the Ministry, under pressure from the unlikely alliance of both Dumbledore _and_ Lucius Malfoy, withdrew the foul guards of Azkaban from anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds.

Though the dementors had gone, they had not gone far. Those looking forward to the Hogsmeade weekend were not looking forward to facing the town's new residents. Harry wasn't thinking about that right now, though. He still needed to figure out how he was going to even get to Hogsmeade. He had no signed permission slip from a parent or guardian.

Harry shoved his Ancient Runes text aside and put his chin in his hands, staring off into nothing. How was he going to get out of the castle?

"Don't be glum, chum," Draco said sympathetically. He knew what had been bugging Harry all week. "I can't go either, you know."

"Because of me," Harry groused.

"For which you've earned several black marks," Draco agreed with a nod. "But not enough for me to trade you in."

"If only there was some way to fake the permission slip," Harry complained. "Stupid, stupid Muggles! Why should they have any say over where I go and what I do?"

"They shouldn't," Tim responded, coming to sit down. He thumped a heavy book on the table, drawing a sharp glare from Madam Pince. "I've been working on this for a couple of weeks now, and I think I've figured out how you can thumb your nose at them, Harry."

"How?" Tim's words were as a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. Any chance he could get out of the castle he would grasp at. Not only was it because the Muggles were denying him and he longed to rub their noses in it, but he had promised Laine that he would bring her back something nice from Hogsmeade. Likewise, Draco had promised Shawna a present, and Sarrah had wanted some butterbeer. That was the price for unloading their ex-Gryffindor tagalong.

"Arithmancy," Tim answered in a satisfied tone. "As long as we can get a sample of a signature, I think it can be done." As he explained the concept behind his scheme, something about a Similarity Test and more differentiation, Harry felt a headache start behind his left eye.

"Can you do it?" he asked at last.

"Well, no." Tim looked embarassed by that, though from what Harry had heard, he had no reason to be. That he even followed what he'd been studying spoke volumes about his intelligence. "But I think I've worked around that, too." He lowered his voice to a whisper, appropriate in a library, but barely audible. "Who do we know who's very, very good at Arithmancy?"

"Percy," Harry replied instantly. "You think he could do this?"

"I do. He's the Head Boy, you know. If he can't, I don't think we're going to fake this."

"Will he do it, do you think?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes, he'll do it. I need to find the great Muggle's signature. I'm sure I've got it somewhere."

'Somewhere' turned out to be an old letter sent up addressed to the school instructing them that Harry was not to leave during the Christmas holiday. Harry found the irony very satisfying. With the signature sample and permission form in hand, Harry tracked down Percy that very evening. The weekly prefects meeting, on Thursdays this year, was just getting out, and Harry was waiting in the hall outside the classroom.

"Evening, Percy," he said as the Head Boy stepped out into the corridor.

"Potter!" he exclaimed.

"Move it, Weasley!" said the Head Girl, Tiffany Trotter, as she shoved him out of the way. She glared at Harry for no discernable reason, harrumphed at him, and flounced away, her shoes clicking on the polished wooden floors.

"Excuse her, please," Percy grimaced. "That had entirely to do with me."

"Because she's a Gryffindor?"

"Yes."

"Stupid," Harry judged. "Glad I'm not in their house."

"I spent five years with them all," Percy said wistfully. "I thought we all knew each other better than this, but even magic can't grant all wishes. As long as I'm wishing, I'd like a life-size statue of a giant made from solid gold, too."

Harry tried not to smile. Percy had been evicted from his house with more than just hurtful words like Ginny had; they'd thrown hexes at him too, and left him dangling from the top of the Astronomy Tower by his feet. Only his having saved Draco's life (which was what had brought about his unpopularity in Gryffindor in the first place) had opened the doors of Slytherin House to him.

Percy shook his head, clearing away troubling thoughts. "But Tiff is my problem, not yours. What can I do for you, Potter?"

"Let's go inside."

Puzzled, judging from his expression, Percy ushered Harry into the prefects' meeting room. The place looked lavish and ornate. It was decorated in shades of purple, giving the room a very royal appearance. The shelves held nothing but leather-bound books - shiny and new, unlike the dusty tombs in the library. In the middle were some wooden tables, with more books spread upon them. Thick arm chairs dotted the room, looking more like thrones with big footstools to make sure the prefects were comfortable. Up towards the ceiling, the walls were decorated with small, silver-framed portraits of all the prefects that had come before, with large gold ones to indicate a Head Boy or Girl. With a sudden lump in his throat, Harry saw his mum and dad's portraits on the Gryffindor wall. Harry swallowed his sudden emotion and made himself turn to the business at hand.

"I need your help with something, Percy. You're the only one I can turn to."

"What is it?"

"I need you to help me forge my permission slip to Hogsmeade."

"What?"

"Yes. Tim figured out a way, but none of us have the skill to do it. You do."

"You flatter me if you think I can fool the teachers."

"And how far will flattery get me? It's just a regular piece of parchment, isn't it?" Harry pressed. "It's not magicked like the anti-cheating quills, right?"

"Well, no." Percy, despite himself, seemed to be thinking it over. "It's ordinary parchment."

"So you could do it."

"I believe I could."

"Then please do so." Harry held out the permission slip and the note.

"Harry, I'm not sure you realize what you're asking of me. This is serious business here. You could get into a lot of trouble over this. _I_ could get into a lot of trouble for this." Percy looked worried now. As Head Boy, and before as a prefect, his duty was to enforce school rules. Now he was being asked to help break them.

It really didn't matter to Harry that he might get in trouble, or that Percy might as well. All he cared about was that he was able to get into Hogsmeade when the Muggles wouldn't want him to. Harry frowned slightly at the older boy now.

"It wasn't all that long ago that you asked something of me, you know. It was something that was difficult to pull off, fraught with peril, and I did it as a personal favour to you. Do you remember, Percy?"

By the expression on his face, he did indeed know what Harry was talking about.

"Ginny is quite happy in Slytherin. I've made sure of it. I keep my promises, Percy."

Percy swallowed hard. Harry held all the cards, and he knew it.

"So you'll do the Arithmancy and get this Muggle's signature onto that permission slip. You're a wizard of your word, aren't you?"

"I will obey," Percy whispered. "My Lord."

At breakfast on Saturday morning, everyone was excited about the visit to Hogsmeade. That, of course, did not interfere one iota with the Hogwarts gossip mill. Amidst all the speculation and betting revolving around the next weekend's Quidditch match (Slytherin versus Gryffindor), everyone was talking about Professor Snape and how he had substituted for Professor Lupin during Friday's lessons. In particular, Gryffindor's loss of twenty-two points was being blamed on Ronald Weasley. Harry didn't know what the problem was. Back towards the end of September, Professor Snape had taken their Defence class and done just fine.

Harry hurried back to the dorm after the meal to don his favourite green cloak and a pair of gloves. The weather was somewhat chilly, and Harry liked staying warm. He tapped himself on the chest and spoke the Self-Warming Charm that Professor Snape had taught them all back in first year.

"Are we all ready?" he asked his mates. They met the girls in the common room, and Harry noticed that Blaise had done herself up quite fancily. He studied her for a long moment and smiled at her when she met his eyes. They were all just about to leave when they were interrupted by a prefect.

"Hold it right there!" Jamie Zabini bounced up off the sofa and took three quick strides. She grabbed Blaise by the chin and turned her sister's face to the light. "What's all this, then?"

"It's not anything," Blaise denied as she tried to squirm away.

"Looks like Rosedust," one of Jamie's friends, Lynn Fawcett commented.

"And some Lascivity," Jamie declared. "Blaise Aliza Zabini, why were you rooting through my kit? You know full well that you are _not_ allowed to wear make-up unless Mother gives permission."

"But I'm going out to Hogsmeade!" Blaise protested.

"Looking like that much of a tart?" her sister exclaimed. "Over my dead body!"

With that final denial, Jamie dipped two fingers into Blaise's collar, twisted her wrist to choke the poor girl, and began hauling her to the bathroom.

"A good scrubbing ought to teach you not to invade my make-up!"

Harry felt a pang of sympathy, but also had to hide a smile.

"It appears that Blaise will not be joining us," Jenna observed with vast understatement.

"Good. She and Draco can play at snogging like their siblings do," Millie laughed. "Wow, that's almost creepy."

"_Someone_ ought to express an interest in snogging Draco," Harry struck in for his best mate, who was not going with them.

"Go right ahead," Jenna invited him.

"Not ever, thank you very much."

"Then who do you want to kiss? What's her name?"

Harry ignored that question and the intermittant repetition of it that lasted through the corridors, up into the entrance hall, where they turned in their permission slips to a sour-faced Filch, and out the front doors and down the path, until they reached the wrought-iron gates that stood open with one solitary guard in a tatty black shroud. The awful wave of coldness struck them, and no one wanted to laugh. Harry wished desperately that it would not be so absolutely suicidal to conjure a bucket of pink paint.

The dementor didn't interfere with them, though, and Harry was glad for that. They walked away as quickly as possible. He tried to follow Jenna's story about Divination, doing his best to put the awful things out of his mind.

"Well Trelawney made this random statement," the funny girl was saying, "to the effect that something awful that Brown had been dreading would happen in the middle of October. Well wouldn't you know, her pet rabbit got mauled by a fox not two weeks ago!"

"What?" several of them, Harry included, exclaimed.

"I couldn't believe it myself, but Brown was so tearful that I just know it really happened."

"How could she be dreading her rabbit getting killed by a fox?" Millie wanted to know.

"Yeah," Tim chimed in. "Seems a bit vague to me."

"I'm sure she wasn't dreading that in particular, but it has to have been something she's worried about at one point or another." Jenna tried to explain it. "But Trelawney did predict something awful would happen, and it did."

"Lucky guess," Pansy said scornfully. "Even a clock that doesn't work anymore can be right twice a day."

"Divination is rubbish," Tim declared with confidence. "Professor Vector says so."

"Oh, I couldn't agree more. Arbitrarily deciding that a lump of sodden tea leaves looks like a bowler hat or a dog's head? If you believed in it, it's enough to make you start looking for signs everywhere."

"But there _are_ signs everywhere," Goyle spoke up. "Like that one there that says 'High Street'."

Crabbe guffawed loudly. Everyone else, even Jenna, who loved to make her friends bemoan her wit, groaned at Goyle's awful punniness.

From all the discussion that had taken place during the past week or so, Harry knew that Hogsmeade was the only entirely wizarding village in Britain. Tradition held that it had been founded about the same time as Hogwarts, over a thousand years ago. The village founder, according to seventh year prefect Sam Palce, had fled persecution at the hands of Muggles, winding up near the castle. Hengist of Woodcroft had found safe haven and settled down to build a village that was still picturesque, with thatched cottages and shops and one main road. Harry was quite enchanted with the place.

"Where do we go first?" he wanted to know.

"Honeydukes," Goyle answered, wincing as his voice cracked. "We need to get sweets before the good stuff is gone."

"Trust a fathead to be thinking with his stomach," Tim jeered.

"My head's not fat!"

"He's right, Tim," Crabbe stuck in for his best mate. "If we wait, there'll be only blood-flavoured lollipops and Cockroach Clusters left."

"Tim, how could you let those two beat you in an argument?" Pansy asked scornfully. "You're slipping a little bit, there."

"Shut up, Pansy," Tim retorted weakly. "Can't you let it go for even a day? We're in _Hogsmeade_ for Merlin's sake! Don't you want to have fun?"

"Running you into the ground _is_ fun!"

Tim shook his head and did not respond. Instead, he stuck his hands in his pockets and started walking up the lane, his cloak billowing slightly in the cool autumn breeze.

"Where's he going?" Pansy asked. "Was it something I said? I must remember it for future use."

"You just don't know when to quit, do you Pansy?" Millie asked rhetorically. "Hey Tim! Wait up!" Millie jogged to catch up with Tim, and the pair of them sauntered off alone into the village.

"We're going to Honeydukes," Crabbe announced. "Harry, are you coming?"

"Maybe a bit later," he said, still a bit stunned by Tim's sudden fit of temper. "I've got to buy some presents for a few people before I do anything else."

"Very good, then," Goyle said with a nod. "We'll see you around." The two biggest boys in third form headed off to the sweet shop, leaving Harry standing at the top of High Street with Pansy and Jenna.

"This is not what I imagined," he confessed to the girls.

"How many things are exactly what we envision?" Jenna asked philosophically. "Never fear, though. Pansy and I won't leave you all alone. Blaise would never forgive us."

Harry grinned. "Well that's good. The pair of you might come in handy, at that. I don't know what sort of presents to get for girls."

"Oooh," Pansy gushed. "Harry, you little charmer, you!"

"Don't overreact, Pansy," he laughed. "Draco and I promised presents for the second year girls to get them to take Ginny off of our hands."

"Then we should definitely help you get something nice," she declared. "That girl gets a little overbearing, I swear. I nearly hexed her last year. I could tell she was starting to put on airs because of hanging around with us older kids."

The trio set on down the lane, delighting in their first visit to the village. Third year students were everywhere, rushing to and fro, trying to do everything all at once. The older students were a little more sedated, but Harry suspected that the village residents were glad such madness descended on them only a few times a year.

The first stop was at the Three Broomsticks, an inn at the near edge of town. With a good locale and a pleasant, homey exterior, the place was a frequent haunt of many Hogwarts students. Harry waited his turn in line and ordered two flasks of butterbeer for Sarrah Nolan. Her bribe had been remarkably simple; she'd told him exactly what she wanted. Laine and Shawna, by contrast, had said only that they wanted "something nice". Butterbeer acquired and safely sequestered in a deep pocket of his cloak, Harry departed the Three Broomsticks with full intentions of returning later for a round or three.

The three Slytherins wandered through the village, delighting in the simple freedom. Harry browsed through the different and fantastic sweets at Honeydukes, got lots of laughs looking through the shelves at Zonko's joke shop, and marvelled at the selection of clothing at Gladrags Wizardwear. With the help of the two girls, Harry eventually picked out a black-and-gold pheasant-feather quill in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. That would be Shawna's present. For Laine, Harry decided on an eagle-feather quill imported from America.

His duties fulfilled, Harry wanted to explore. They exited the shop and turned left down the side road, but hadn't taken more than a few steps before a well-hated voice called out to him sneeringly.

"So you summoned up enough courage to visit Hogsmeade, did you, Potter? Aren't you worried that the nasty dementors will get you? Woooooo!" Weasley waggled his fingers in Harry's general direction.

"What would a Weasley know about courage? Doesn't it take four of you to match one Slytherin?" Jenna beat Harry to the punch.

Weasley's face started to turn red. He was so very, very predictable. "Gotta have girls defend you, Potter?"

"These girls? Absolutely. I notice you're by yourself. Can't you be pleasant for just one day, Weasley?" Harry gave his nemesis a withering glare. "Or must you always be a ghastly, spotty, vicious little git?"

"Nice one," Jenna said as an aside.

"Thanks."

"You're nothing but a sneaky, slimy, snakey Slytherin!"

"I'm much more than that!" Harry was taking the piss, having as much fun laughing at Weasley's pathetic insults as he was throwing his own zingers.

"Oh, let me _tell_ you what else you are, Potter!"

"Better watch yourself, Weasley," Harry warned him in mock-friendly tones. "Aren't you supposed to die this year? You wouldn't want to get bit by a poisonous snake, would you?"

"Bloodydark Parselmouth! I'm tired of you Slytherins thinking you're magic's gift to the world," Weasley spat with disgust. "You think you're so bloody wonderful."

"We are the best," Harry told him seriously. "But I wouldn't expect a beef-witted apple-john like yourself to appreciate it. Why don't you go away and try to improve yourself? Maybe if you work hard enough at it, you'll get up to the level of a Hufflepuff by the end of the year."

Weasley looked ready to burst. His hand flashed to the pocket of his second-hand robes and practically ripped the fabric in his haste to draw his wand. For the first time, he was armed first. Nobody said a word; the situation had escalated.

"Not so mouthy now, are you, Potter?" Weasley exulted. "Nothing to say when you don't have the upper hand, eh?"

"You've made a horrible mistake, Weasley," Harry warned him in a soft voice. "Put your wand away before you do something you'll regret."

"I should shut your mouth for you, Potter. I've been practicing a lot this year, waiting for the right time to hex you good."

Harry was thinking very quickly now. His chances of getting out of this without a scuffle were minimal, he realized. Weasley did have his wand pointed at him. Harry couldn't draw his own without getting hit with a spell. Well, it would just have to be trickery.

He shifted his focus, looking past Weasley. "That's it! Get him, Goyle!"

"Goyle!" Weasley reacted, throwing a glance over his shoulder. The point of his wand drifted, enough for Harry to charge forward and tackle the Gryffindor to the ground.

"Geroff!" Weasley grunted, as Harry tried to wrest his wand away. The shaft of wood went flying. Harry balled up his fist and punched Weasley in the face as hard as he could.

"Yow!" The pain that exploded in his hand was not as bad as the time he'd broken his leg falling off his broom, but it was close. There was a loud snap, just as there had been on that occasion, and Harry cradled his injured hand.

"_Petrificus totalis!_" Jenna's quick spell-casting saved Harry from a sure beating; there was no way he could have fought Weasley only one-handed.

Harry climbed off the Gryffindor and gave him a disgusted look. "See what you did? Honestly, the situations you get yourself into."

Pansy inspected his hand. "I think it's broken," she announced. "You need to have Madam Pomfrey look at it immediately."

"Damn you, Weasley!" Harry swore. "We need to fix him somehow."

Jenna smiled in such an evil fashion as to take Harry aback. "Jenna, what are you thinking?"

"Justice," she said shortly. With a wave of her wand, she turned a spare bit of parchment she pulled from her pocket into a white circle. This she bent down and covered Weasley's face with. One quick Sticking Charm later, she straightened up. "We can leave him now."

And they did.

With undue haste, the two girls hurried Harry up to the castle, past the awful dementor, and up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey asked no questions as she spooned a tonic into him, and mere moments later his hand felt good as new. Harry thanked her profusely, but ignored her questions about the dementors and how they were affecting him. All Harry wanted to do was get back into the village and continue exercising his privileges. But he could not ignore the dementors themselves so easily.

As they once again approached the gates of the castle, Harry felt the awful coldness washing over him. He took smaller and smaller steps and finally stopped walking at all. In his head, he could hear the echoes of that woman screaming. He wanted to vomit.

"Harry? Harry, are you okay?"

"No, Jenna," he managed to whisper. "Not at all."

"No more Hogsmeade for you," she declared, spinning him around by main force. "March!" And she gave him a shove to get him going.

Stumbling, but gradually gaining strength (the further away from the dementor he got), Harry allowed himself to be guided back into the castle. He was soon settled into a comfortable chair in front of the fire in the Slytherin common room. He nibbled on a Chocolate Frog and tried not to think about the woman who screamed in his head.

"So Draco, what did you and Blaise do today?"

When Sunday morning came, Harry still didn't want to go anywhere near the gates of the castle. Even looking out the exterior windows was enough to make him nauseous. His eyes were drawn every time to the hooded figure haunting the wrought iron, which today stood open.

Most of his friends were going out into the village again. Crabbe and Goyle were headed back to Honeydukes to get another enormous sack of sweets. Tim had decided to buy the book he'd seen in Dervish and Banges and gone with them. Pansy, Blaise, Jenna, and Millie had declared "No boys allowed" and departed as well. The only Slytherin still around was Draco, and _he_ was in a foul mood for not being able to go at all.

Harry lost a couple of games of chess, but Draco's victorious crowing grated on his nerves. He put his pieces away, drew on his cloak, told Draco to go soak his head, and went for a walk. He had stopped to look out the window, but seen only the dementor.

"Good morning, Harry." The voice that startled him out of his reverie belonged to Professor Lupin, who was coming around the corner.

"Professor Lupin! Good morning."

"What are you doing up here?" the Defence teacher asked, in a much different tone than Filch would have used. "Shouldn't you be having fun down in Hogsmeade?"

Harry shook his head. "Didn't feel up to it."

Lupin eyed him for a moment. "I see. Well, if you're feeling under the weather, might I offer you a cup of tea? I was just headed back to my office. Would you be interested in seeing a grindylow? We'll be studying them next lesson."

Professor Lupin was the best Defence teacher that Harry had yet had. They'd just finished studying kappas. Without wasting any time, now they were on grindylows. Before a week had passed, they would be learning about hinkypunks. Harry was certainly not about to turn down a chance to get a leg up on his studies.

"Sure."

The Defence classroom was not far, and Harry followed Professor Lupin into his office, wondering how it would have changed from Lockhart's obsequious self-obsession. To his delight, the place had a neat and tidy look to it now. Magical devices were on display, but not crowding the shelves. A very large tank of water stood in one corner, and a sickly green creature with sharp little horns had its face pressed up against the glass, pulling faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers.

"A water demon!"

"Yes, indeed." Lupin surveyed the grindylow thoughtfully. "We shouldn't have much trouble with him, not after the kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle."

The grindylow bared its green teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weeds in the corner of the tank.

"That's very tally," Harry said with gusto. Defence was once again his favourite subject.

"Is that the latest slang?" Lupin asked curiously. "In my day, good things were called max."

"Maximum?"

"Exactly. Now, about that tea? I'm afraid I only have teabags."

"That's fine," Harry took the opportunity to poke around the room while the professor fixed the tea. He jumped as, with one tap of his wand, Lupin make the tea kettle start whistling a merry tune.

"There we are. Isn't that nice, then?"

"Thank you, sir."

"You know, Harry, my encounter with you today is most well-timed. I've been meaning to pull you aside for some time now."

"Yes, sir?" It was usually never a good thing when the teacher wanted to pull you aside for a private talk.

"I hope you're not harboring any resentment towards me for not wanting you to face the boggart."

Oh! Harry shook his head. "No, sir. Given what happened, it seems you had your good reasons."

"Thank you for understanding. It is always chancy to confront students with their worst fears. You, with so much tragedy in your life, are a more delicate situation than most." That was the closest anyone usually came to saying that he had been orphaned by the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries. "And that you conjured up a dementor, well," the man trailed off thoughtfully.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked, the expression on Lupin's face worrying him.

"It suggests, Harry, that what you fear most is fear. This is both wise and profound. It reflects a certain maturity on your part. I can't help but wonder how you acquired it so early in your life."

"About these dementors," Harry said, eager to change the subject. "You've got to know more about them than anyone in the castle, right?"

Lupin smiled at Harry's presumption. "Professor Dumbledore knows more than the entire staff put together. Professor Snape also knows a great deal about the Dark Arts, as I'm sure you are aware. But yes, I know about dementors."

"Something strange happens to me when I'm around them," he began, but broke off as there came a knock on the door.

"Enter!" Lupin called, and Professor Snape strode through the door. He carried a large goblet, the contents of which were smoking faintly. He tossed a curious look Harry's way, but spoke to Lupin:

"Here is your concoction, Lupin. As before, drink it directly."

"Thank you, Severus. I do appreciate your efforts."

"Mister Potter, a pleasure to see you. I hope you're not here because of poor performance in class."

"No, sir!" The last thing he wanted was for Snape to think he'd been slacking off on his studies. "Professor Lupin invited me for tea."

"Lupin, you never invite _me_ for tea."

"I didn't realize you craved my company that much, Severus. As it was, I invited Harry so I could show off the grindylow that came in yesterday."

"Such minor Dark creatures, Lupin. When were you planning on starting them on a really dangerous creature, like a werewolf? When I quizzed your third year Gryffindors on Friday, they had no idea at all how to identify one."

"All of the students have had a rather spotty education in the past few years, Severus," Lupin replied mildly. "I'm only trying to help them acquire a fundamental base of knowledge."

Snape placed the goblet on the desk. "I wouldn't wait on this," he said and departed in short order. Lupin caught Harry's curious look and replied.

"I've been feeling a bit off-colour lately, and that potion is the only thing that helps. Professor Snape, as you know, is one of the very best, and I was never more than a passing student of Potions. This one is particularly complex, so I'm really quite fortunate to be working with him."

Was Lupin buttering up Snape because he was Harry's Head of House?

"A pity sugar makes it useless," Lupin said regretfully, taking a large swallow and shuddering.

"Sugar makes most potions useless," Harry recited from his lessons.

"Quite correct." Lupin took another swallow. "That really does taste awful. Best to get it down quickly." He drained the goblet. "Oh, that taste! Good thing I have tea, that's all I will say."

The Halloween Feast was lavish like never before. The Great Hall had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering bats, and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes. The food was delicious; even those who'd gone into Hogsmeade today and stuffed themselves in either Honeydukes or the Three Broomsticks managed second helpings of everything. The feast finished with entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor, had a great success with a reenactment of his own botched beheading. The Bloody Baron, needless to say, did not participate.

It was such a pleasant evening that even Weasley couldn't spoil Harry's good mood when he shouted out through the departing crowd, "The dementors send their love, Potter!"

Harry, Draco, and Tim followed the rest of the Slytherins along the usual path down to the dungeons and the Slytherin common room. Margaret Rosier, a sixth year prefect, gave the password ("We miss Kettleburn.") and they all tramped in and settled down for the evening.

Not fifteen minutes had passed before Professor Snape came through the stone wall. "Everyone up at once. Back to the Great Hall. Not a word out of anyone, or it will be detention for a week. Move now, quickly!"

What the heck was going on? Harry was just as confused as anyone else, and he followed the crowd back upstairs. They found themselves joined by the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in discovering the Gryffindors already there. Professor Dumbledore was standing, pacing, obviously thinking very quickly. When all the students had returned, he raised his hands for silence.

"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," he announced, as Professors Flitwick and McGonagall closed all doors into the hall. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances, and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately," he added to Percy, who was looking very serious. "Send a Messenger spell or one of the ghosts."

Professor Dumbledore paused as he was about to leave the hall and said, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing-" and with one casual wave of his wand, the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls. With another wave, the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.

"Sleep well," Professor Dumbledore wished them, closing the door behind him.

The hall immediately began to buzz excitedly; the Gryffindors were telling the rest of the school what had just happened.

"We got back to our common room, right?"

"But we couldn't get through the secret door."

"The painting that guards the entrance was slashed to ribbons!"

"The guardian ran away. Peeves said she was running through the landscape up on the fourth floor."

"Peeves said?"

"Yes, Peeves said."

"She wouldn't let him in."

"Who?"

"And Peeves said it was Sirius Black!"

"Sirius Black!"

to be continued...


	11. The Patronus Charm

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Eleven - The Patronus Charm**

"Sirius Black!"

When he heard that hated name, Harry felt his world slide into focus. Black was in the castle. He'd eluded the dementors and broken into Hogwarts. Harry smiled with satisfaction. It was better than a Christmas present. Now Harry didn't have to go looking for him.

Harry looked around the Great Hall. The Head Boy had instructed the prefects to split up, and there were representatives from each house at every door. The oldest students guarded the main entrance, while the sixth years protected the side entrance commonly used by the staff. The last door, that leading to an antechamber, was watched by the fifth years. All of the prefects had their wands out. If Black did try to come into the Great Hall, he'd have to get past eight students who all excelled at their studies. But how was Harry going to get clear?

Hands on his shoulders pulled Harry to the floor. Draco and Tim sat him on a sleeping bag. His best mates both had knowing expressions on their faces.

"Don't even think about it, Harry," Draco said first. "No more adventures."

"Adventure? Draco, is that what you think I'm after? You know what Black did to my family."

"I do. But now is not the time to get revenge."

"It's not revenge," Harry said calmly. "It's justice."

"Harry, you're not going to get out of this hall. Unless you can somehow walk through walls, there's just no way. Even with your invisibility cloak, you'd still have to open the door." Tim was being logical, as always.

Harry ground his teeth. "You're not helping."

"There will be another time. There will be a better time."

"I'm going to kill him," Harry swore.

"Rightly so," Draco agreed. "But later. Right now, there's a bit of a mystery on."

"What do you mean?"

Draco looked instead at Tim. "Why did Black try to break into Gryffindor?"

"Harry's parents were in Gryffindor," Tim said automatically. "Black's been locked up for twelve years, so he probably assumed that Harry was in Gryffindor as well."

"That's a disgusting thought," Draco deplored with a grimace. "Then we'd have to hate him."

"The real question is whether or not he's realized his mistake," Tim mused. "Will he try to break into Gryffindor again or come down into the dungeons?"

"No, the question is how did he get in? Where is he hiding out? I've got to track him down." Harry had no concern for the mystery, only for his revenge.

"He's obviously somewhere in the village. He'll need to steal food while he lays low to try again." Tim was correct. "And he will try again, right?"

"He will," Draco affirmed.

"Let him come," Harry declared. "I'm not afraid of him."

"Harry, I'd be afraid of anybody who could get past the dementors," Tim advised.

"Twice," Draco added.

"Everyone into their sleeping bags! Settle down, now! No more talking!" Percy shouted to make himself heard over the general commotion. "Lights out in five minutes!"

"Put your own lights out!" someone sassed him.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor, Fred."

"You tosser!"

"Twenty! Care to make it twenty-five?"

Fred Weasley grumbled, but did not reply directly.

"I didn't think so."

"Looks like they're still sore at ol' Perce," Draco commented. "Weasleys are ever so petty. Especially Ronald." He said the boy's given name in a sissy fashion, as he commonly did.

"He got his," Harry said with satisfaction. Finnigan had told Brown who told Parvati who told Padma who told Jenna who told the rest of the Slytherins that he'd found Weasley struggling to throw off the last of the Full-Body Bind.

"For now," Draco said with a nod. "Some day I'll get the chance to do something personally. I just haven't come up with what yet."

Neither Harry nor Tim offered a suggestion, so the subject was dropped. What filled their silence was the students all around them asking the question of the hour: "How did he get in?"

"Maybe he knows how to Apparate," said a Ravenclaw boy a few feet away. "Just appear out of thin air, you know."

"Disguised himself, probably," said a Hufflepuff fifth year.

"He could have flown in," Dean Thomas of Gryffindor suggested.

"Idiots," Tim muttered under his breath.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Aside from the fact that Dumbledore told us that dementors are not fooled by disguises? Filch knows all the secret passages, and the dementors would have seen him fly in, too."

"What about Apparition?"

Tim harrumphed. "The castle is guarded by more than mere stone walls, you know. There are hundreds of enchantments set over this place. It's impossible to get in by stealth."

"That's it, everyone! Lights out!" Percy waved his wand, and all of the candles that lit the Great Hall were snuffed out, plunging the room into darkness. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling that currently reflected the clear, starry night outside.

"That wasn't five minutes!" someone called out mockingly, hiding his identity in the anonymous darkness.

"Twenty more points from Gryffindor, George!"

"Shut up, Weasley!" a girl's voice hissed through the dark.

"Don't you two know when enough is enough?" another girl whispered.

Gradually everyone settled down, though a few pockets of whispering persisted and had to be quelled by the Head Girl. Harry stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep knowing that his parents' betrayer was nearby. Once every hour, a teacher would reappear in the hall to check that everything was quiet. Around three in the morning, when many students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore came in. Harry watched him looking around for Percy, who was leaned up against a near wall, yawning hugely. Harry quickly pretended to be asleep as the Headmaster's footsteps drew nearer.

"Any sign of him, Professor?" Percy asked in a low whisper.

"No. All well here?"

"Everything under control, sir."

"Good. There's no point in moving them all now. They'll be able to move back in the morning."

"What happened, sir? We were all rushed here so fast, no one's had time to tell us."

"Sirius Black somehow gained entrance to the castle. He went to the entrance to Gryffindor tower, but apparently she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked."

"Attacked!"

"Yes. He slashed the canvas so viciously that strips of it littered the floor. Great chunks of it were torn away completely."

"Merlin's name," Percy breathed. "And the Fat Lady, sir?"

"Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor. She's still very distressed, but once she's calmed down, I'll have Mister Filch restore her. I've found a temporary guardian for the Gryffindor portrait hole until then."

Harry heard the door of the hall creak open again, and more footsteps.

"Headmaster?" It was Professor Snape. Harry remained still, listening hard. "The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either."

"What about the Astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"

"All searched."

"Very well, Severus. I didn't really expect Black to linger, but we had to be sure."

"Have you got any theory as to how he got in, Headmaster?"

"Many, Severus, each as unlikely as the next."

Harry turned over so he could see, as well as hear. All he could see was Percy's face, rapt with attention, and Snape's profile, which looked angry.

"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before the start of term?"

"I do, Severus," said Dumbledore, and there was a note in his voice that cautioned against returning to the subject.

"It seems almost impossible that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed-"

"I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it," Dumbledore said, his tone so final that Harry knew Professor Snape continued to argue at his peril. "I must go down to the dementors. I said I would inform them when our search was complete."

"Didn't they want to help, sir?" Percy asked.

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore, and the chillness in his tone could have frosted the windows over. "But I'm afraid no dementor will cross the threshold of this school while _I_ am headmaster."

Percy nodded and fought back another yawn as Dumbledore stepped away. Professor Snape watched the headmaster go with an expression of deep resentment, and he too departed.

Harry didn't sleep that night, which made him grumpy in the morning. He stumped down to the dungeons to bathe, hoping he would feel better after a dunking under the hot water. He did not. He kept his mouth shut during breakfast rather than be short with his mates. He only offered a brief affirmative when Jenna tried to tease him about his silence before he picked up his bag and headed to History of Magic.

Harry's vow to himself, sworn over the summer, to fully embrace the wizarding world had logically resulted in a conclusion that he needed to learn his wizarding history. Draco and Pansy had poked a lot of fun at Harry for his newfound attentiveness, but Tim had gravely considered Harry's decision and complimented him - before folding his arms and hiding his face against the desk!

Everyone else put their heads down within five minutes of Professor Binns beginning his lecture. Harry fought off a yawn and tried to keep in mind some advice he'd gotten from last year's Head Boy, Abraham Montague, namely: Don't let it be one long "and then". It was hard, because Binns' most commonly uttered phrase was "and then".

It was a struggle to keep everything straight about how the Statue of Secrecy had been breached in 1749 while being distracted by Hufflepuffs gossiping wildly and inaccurately as to how Sirius Black had managed to penetrate the castle. Hannah Abbott told anyone who would listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub. She tried to tell Blaise, but when Blaise offered to feed her to the Venomous Tentacula, she quickly turned away. It was a relief when Harry packed his bag for the walk to Herbology.

After lunch, those Slytherins not taking Divination headed to the library, where they studied until it was time for Ancient Runes. After their last lecture, they headed for the common room, and Harry tossed his bag down in disgust.

"Did you see them watching me?" he demanded of no one in particular.

"Who, Harry?" Blaise responded.

"The teachers! We couldn't talk about anything fun, because there was always a teacher in whatever corridor we took!" Harry wondered if they thought he was too stupid to notice.

"The prefects were everywhere, too," Tim added.

"Are you sure you're not just imagining things again, Nott?" Pansy sneered at him.

"I'd stop imagining you if could," he retorted.

"No, he's right," Harry said firmly. "They're watching me, and it's because of Sirius Black. If he can get into the castle, he can get to me, so they're watching. I bet there's even a prefect standing watch over the dorm tonight."

To add to the general fuss being raised about him, Professor Snape summoned Harry to his office that night with a grim expression on his face.

"Has someone died, sir?" Harry joked, wishing everyone would just leave him alone.

"No, and we're trying to prevent it," Snape replied. "There has been much discussion amongst the staff, and the decision has finally been made to warn you. Sirius Black-"

"I know he's after me, sir," Harry interrupted. "Mister Malfoy told me all about him."

Professor Snape was startled by this, but only for a moment. "I see. Well then, perhaps you understand why it would be best if you were to refrain from Quidditch practices in the evenings."

"As opposed to the practices in the morning?" Harry couldn't help his sarcasm. "Professor, we've got the match against Gryffindor on Saturday! I have to practice!"

"Mister Potter, you are the best Seeker this school has seen since Charlie Weasley. Believe me when I tell you that your practice time would be better spent studying your History of Magic textbook." Snape's tone was dry and unsympathetic. "I don't want you out there unprotected."

Harry pushed away a stab of despair. There had to be some way around this, some way he could make Snape see reason. "If he got into the castle, I'm not safe anywhere," he shot back with perfect logic. "So unless you're willing to have me move into your quarters and shadow you everywhere, I'm going to be at some risk."

Snape scowled slightly. "I admit, Mister Potter, you have a point."

"The teachers are nearby in the castle, yes. So why not assign a teacher to watch the practices?" Inspiration hit Harry like an unseen Bludger. His voice picked up speed as his excitement at the prospect built. "Or perhaps a prefect? If you asked, say, Percy Weasley to keep an eye on me, we wouldn't even have to go outside the house. Our Quidditch secrets would be safe, I'd be well-protected, and none of the staff would have to take time away from- from- from whatever it is you do, when you're not lecturing."

Professor Snape spared a small smile. "Very well. I will speak to Mister Weasley tonight. You may practice as normal tomorrow evening."

Harry felt a wash of relief. "Thank you, sir. I know Flint will be very pleased."

"Dismissed, Mister Potter."

"Good night, sir.

The wind howled all through the night. Harry was never more glad to be able to sleep in than when Tim, Crabbe, and Goyle rose for Care of Magical Creatures. Harry was able to pull the covers up over his head and catch a few more winks before Defence.

Harry always enjoyed his Defence lessons. Every Slytherin was in agreement with him that Professor Lupin, though a bit poor and tatty, was definitely worth his mustard. It was that very confidence in him that compelled Harry to wait around after the lecture.

"Yes, Harry?" Lupin asked, putting the pile of parchments he'd collected into his briefcase.

"Sir, I wanted to ask you a few questions. Is now a good time?" Harry wasn't sure how one went about asking for special instruction, but he suspected it would be better to be polite.

"Of course, Harry. My door is always open to students who wish to learn. Is it about the grindylows?"

"No, sir. I wanted to ask you about Azkaban. Where is it?"

Lupin gave Harry a steady look. "Azkaban is set on a tiny island, way out to sea. The only way to access it is by boat, and the boat runs only when dropping off or picking up. But they don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in. The prison is out there to keep dementors away from decent people."

"They're horrid, those dementors. They're Dark creatures, right?"

"Of the worst sort. Dementors are the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places; they glory in decay and despair; they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the very air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them."

"Whenever I get near them, something happens to me," Harry said, finally getting to his point. "I hear - things. Is it because I'm just-"

"It has nothing to do with weakness, Harry!" Lupin said sharply, dropping the briefcase on the desk. A ray of wintery sunshine fell across the classroom, illuminating Lupin's grey hairs and the lines on his young face. His eyes were piercing intently into Harry's face. "It does _not_! Get too near a dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, a dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself - soulless and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."

Harry swallowed the tightness in his throat. "When I get near them, I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum. I hear her voice begging, pleading with him not to kill me. I hear him laughing as he kills her."

Lupin gripped Harry's arm suddenly, conveying sympathy without words. "They affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don't have. The worst that has happened to you, Harry, is enough to make anybody fall down or fall off their broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of."

"They're supposed to catch Sirius Black, but what good are they?" Harry asked bitterly. "He escaped from them while they were guarding him."

"Nobody has yet figured out how he managed to do it. The prisoners are mostly mad. It's not surprising when they're all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought."

"How could he get away?"

"I don't understand it myself," Lupin admitted. "He must have found some way to fight them. I wouldn't have believed it possible. Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long."

"You made that dementor back off on the train," Harry said suddenly. "Professor Dumbledore sent them all packing when they stormed the Quidditch pitch."

"There are certain defences one can use. Bear in mind that there was only one on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist them."

"What defences?"

"I don't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry. Quite the contrary."

"If the dementors attack the Quidditch match on Saturday-"

"Professor Dumbledore is going to be personally guarding the pitch," Professor Lupin interrupted. "He was angrier about what happened at the start of term than I've ever seen him."

"But what about boggarts?" Harry pressed. "If I run into one of those, it will become a dementor."

Lupin considered that. "You are right, Harry. Very well. I'll try to help, but it will have to wait until next term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill."

Harry didn't care for that answer. He needed to learn how to defend himself. Now. He wondered briefly if Lupin was just putting him off. It was impossible to tell.

"Better later than not at all," he said, forcing a note of cheer in his voice. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, Harry. Now, hurry up or you'll miss lunch."

Harry quick-stepped down to the Great Hall and gobbled down two sandwiches, a helping of potato salad, a serving of unadorned lettuce with Italian dressing, two slices of pie, and three glasses of milk. He was just wiping his mouth when the bell for third period sounded, and they all bustled off to Transfiguration where Harry spent most of the period trying to turn his quill into a chopstick.

Before he headed to Potions, Harry needed to visit the loo, so he excused himself and took a left turn. When he'd finished his business, he continued on his way. It was the most rotten luck, for passing down the corridor, headed towards the same classroom, was the annoying Weasel.

Each boy stopped in his tracks. It was the first time Harry could recall ever being alone with the red-haired twit. A vacant look on his face shifted to a scowl without delay.

"Potter." His voice was hard.

"Weasley," Harry replied cooly.

"Where's your gang of Junior Death Eaters, Potter?"

"Slytherin does not mean Junior Death Eater!" Harry snapped. "And given that the Death Eaters followed the man who killed my parents, your question is totally ignorant."

Weasley contemplated that. "You're still a bunch of Darkies," he threw back. "You most of all."

"I don't know a single bit of Dark magic, you git! I was raised by Muggles, as I believe you know. I know only what's taught here, so unless you know of some classes I don't-"

"Don't play innocent, Potter! You've got friends in that Dark house."

"I certainly do!" Harry said proudly. "Real friends, good friends! They're a sight better than any of you Gryffindorks!"

"And like good friends, they've taught you all their Dark secrets."

"We're not Dark wizards!" Harry half-shouted, and his voice cracked like a windowpane. Oh, of all the times for his voice to start changing, why for magic's sake did it have to break in the middle of telling off Weasley?

Weasley laughed. "Something wrong, Potter?"

"Shut up, Weasley." He winced as his voice broke again.

Weasley laughed harder. "I think you might have broken something, Potter."

"Shut up, Weasley!"

"Say it again! I don't think I heard you."

"Shut up! Shut your stupid mouth!" This time his words were accompanied by the drawing of his wand. He pointed it at Weasley. "Start moving. I'm not going to be late to Potions because of you."

Weasley continued laughing all the way to the classroom. Harry put his wand away, though the temptation to hex the boy was very strong. He tossed his bag down on the bench beside Blaise and flung himself onto the seat.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Weasley's a git," Harry began, but before he could elaborate on the many and profound reasons behind that statement, Professor Snape began the lecture.

Harry enjoyed Potions nearly as much as Defence. They weren't brewing today, so Harry paid close attention to the lecture. He became so engrossed in the topic that it seemed Professor Snape was just in the middle of the good part when the bell sounded the end of the class.

Harry lingered here as well. He kept himself busy scrubbing at the stone counter. When the last Gryffindor had departed, Harry went up to Professor Snape's desk and cleared his throat.

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

"Professor, you know a lot about Defence." Harry got to the point immediately. "Do you know about dementors?"

Snape cocked an eyebrow. "I do. And now you want private tutoring, am I right?"

Harry would never cease to be amazed at how Snape seemed able to read minds. "Yes, sir. I need to know how to defend myself."

"I'm surprised you waited this long to ask," Snape commented. "I have decided that, before the next Hogsmeade weekend, all of the prefects will learn the only method for repelling a dementor, the Patronus Charm. I will be making the announcement on Sunday. If you feel up to learning some advanced magic, well beyond the Ordinary Wizarding Level, then you should report to the first laboratory on Sunday evening following dinner."

The idea of lessons with the best students of Slytherin House was, to say the least, intimidating. Harry, though, was not one to back down from a challenge. "I'll be there, sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

When the post was delivered on Wednesday morning, Harry looked up from his breakfast. There came Regal, swooping in to deliver the morning Prophet. Harry opened it immediately and held out a strip of bacon to his eagle owl, which Regal ignored. Puzzled (Regal never refused bacon), Harry looked up and let out a startled exclamation.

"Regal! What happened?"

The bird's face had been marked with what appeared to be soot. A jagged black lightning bolt was traced on top of the feathers. The owl blinked several times, staring straight at Harry.

Harry grabbed a napkin and dabbed carefully at the soot. It did not come off. Harry wiped a little harder. He dipped the napkin in his glass of water, but that didn't help either. He bit back a swear word because Professor Vector was walking by.

"Draco, look at this!"

"That looks like your scar!" his best mate exclaimed. "That's sick!"

"I bet you anything Weasley did this." Harry felt his ears burning. He hated Weasley, but this stunt had sunk the boy to a new low.

"It's exactly the sort of dirty trick he'd pull," Draco agreed. "He shouldn't get away with it."

"He's not going to. He wants to mess with my pet? I'm going to get his. That rat is nothing but trouble anyway."

"It tore up Crabbe's hand pretty good."

"Exactly. Regal? Listen closely. I want you to wait for the boy who did this to you to come back to the Owlery. He always carries a rat in his pocket or on his shoulder. I want you to grab that rat and bring it to me. Do you understand?"

Regal hooted once. Harry stroked the bird's feathers, and now Regal accepted the bacon. He devoured three pieces of it in short order before winging away to the Owlery again. Harry hated the idea of letting his pet go off with that soot still on his face, but he needed to find out how to clean it off without hurting the bird.

"What are you going to do with the rat?" Draco wanted to know.

"I don't know yet."

"I say we just kill the little bleeder."

Harry ate his toast savagely, tearing at it like Regal would. The insulting prank could only have come from Weasley, of that he was sure. His efforts to clean off the soot had failed; perhaps a potion would help. Was there an Owl-Cleaning Potion? If not, did he dare to use something else on his precious post owl? Who would know about owl care?

He considered the dilemna all through his morning classes, absently taking notes. It was lunchtime before it dawned on Harry that as gamekeeper, and moreso being the teacher of Care of Magical Creatures, the most qualified person to talk to about his owl was Hagrid.

His logic was unassailable and infuriating, and Harry fumed about it all through his afternoon classes. Hagrid was a drunk and slightly mad to boot. Harry would not soon forget that the huge man had tried to raise a dragonling in his wooden hut. Reluctantly, Harry made his decision.

That evening before his Quidditch practice, Harry paid a visit to the Owlery. His bird rode on his shoulder as Harry headed for Hagrid's hut, where curls of smoke from the chimney were whipped away by the stiff wind. Fang's deep barking answered his knocking, and Harry heard Hagrid wrestling the boarhound back as he came to the door.

"Yes?"

"Hello, Hagrid."

The big man's expression became guarded. "'Arry. What brings yeh down 'ere at this time o' night?"

"I need some help with my owl. You're the teacher for Care of Magical Creatures, so you're the logical choice." Harry hated coming here, given the rough history between him and the gamekeeper, but Hagrid _did_ know a lot about animals.

"Yer owl, eh?" Hagrid scratched at his beard. "A'right, bring 'er in."

Harry didn't see any evidence that Hagrid had been drinking tonight. If he had, he would have gone straight back up to the castle. Hagrid closed the door with a thump and released Fang, who bounded over and nearly knocked Harry down with his enthusiastic greeting.

"Git down, yeh silly dog!" Hagrid rumbled. "Now, what's the problem?"

Harry exhibited Regal's face. "Some joker thought it would be funny to mark him up."

Hagrid scowled. "'At's not funny at all. 'At's a joke in very poor taste."

"I couldn't agree more. I tried wiping it off with some water, but it didn't help."

"Yeh'll want teh be careful, especially around the eyes. Best thing'd be teh just let the feathers fall out natural-like. If yeh want it off now, some mild soap should loosen the soot up enough teh wipe away."

Harry nodded. "Soap. I'll try it."

"Do yeh know who done it?"

"I've got my suspicions." Harry moved to the door. "Thanks, Hagrid."

"Yer welcome."

Harry sent Regal back up to the castle and continued towards the Quidditch pitch. He was a few minutes late, so he mounted his broom and flew the rest of the way. Flint still scowled at him as he joined the team.

"Now that we're _all_ here," Flint said crossly, and they began to work on drills.

Seated in the stands to monitor the practice again was Percy Weasley. The Head Boy had been turned into a babysitter the previous night, and now he had to be present again. Harry would have felt guilty about taking Percy from his studies - the N.E.W.T.s were only seven months away, but ol' Perce really didn't seem to mind too much; he wasn't sitting alone. To keep him company, Lynn Fawcett had bundled up and braved the chill weather. They sat very close together, and Harry saw them snogging several times. He whistled sharply as he flew by chasing the Snitch and saw them spring apart guiltily. Percy had a very red face.

When practice was over, Harry shouldered his broom for the trek back up to the castle. He grinned up at Percy as the older boy fell into step with him. "Where's your girlfriend, Percy?"

Percy flushed again immediately. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh, you just snog with her?"

"We weren't snogging."

"You've got lipstick on your cheek. Is it yours, then?"

Percy was bright red now. "Of course not!"

"Then it's hers."

"Maybe."

Harry faked a gagging noise. "Is kissing girls really all that fun?"

"Take Blaise out behind the greenhouses and find out," Percy fired back, his cheeks still rosy.

Harry tripped over his feet. "How do you know about Blaise?" he demanded.

"It's obvious to anyone with eyes, Harry."

When Harry and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team arrived at their changing room on Saturday morning, Flint started swearing sulphurously. Bole and Derrick, the Beaters, came out with some words Harry had never heard before. One thing about playing Quidditch with the older lads, Harry's vocabulary was constantly getting new updates.

The entire room had been redecorated with red and gold - Gryffindor's colours. It was enough to make you sick.

"Tear all this down," Flint growled, ripping down some red and gold bunting. He got a surprise as it triggered a small explosion, decorating _him_ in red and gold as well!

"Booby traps!" Bletchley exclaimed.

"Bloody Weasley twins are behind this, or I'll eat the Quaffle," Flint snarled. His robes were now a dead ringer for Gryffindor's uniform.

"You might want to change before the match," Pucey suggested.

"Shut up, Pucey." Flint looked around at all of the redecorating and kicked at a wooden bench. "We don't have time to deal with this now. Get ready, but don't touch anything."

Harry thought that very sound advice. He strapped on his leathers quickly. He wanted to get out of here, away from all the red and gold. How had the Gryffindors even gotten inside? The changing rooms were supposed to be off-limits to the other houses.

"Bloody Merlin's beard!" Montague swore. Harry looked up at a sudden spraying sound and saw the Chaser dripping with gold paint. It appeared to have come from the locker where his gear was stashed.

Flint sighed. "Hit the shower and pray they didn't do anything to _that_." His face brightened. "Actually, that's a fine idea. Potter, you're already dressed. Run out and grab Warrington. Tell him we need him."

When Flint gave an order, it was always in ones best interest to obey promptly. Harry went from the changing rooms back up to the castle at a dead run. He caught the fifth year boy as he was just heading down to the pitch, all three of the fifth year girls walking very close to him.

"Potter!" Warrington the Third exclaimed in surprise. "Shouldn't you be with the team?"

"That's what. I'm here. For," Harry panted, gasping for every breath. "Sabotage. Gryffindor. Need you. Flint says."

Charles Warrington the Third stood up straighter. "If Captain Flint needs me, then I must go. Heather, Courtney, Amanda, I will see you after the match." The three girls made various noises of regret. "Race you there, Potter!"

Harry might have been fast in the air, but on the ground, the bigger boy's long legs ate up the distance in a way that Harry just couldn't match. When he stumbled into the changing room, Warrington was thick as thieves with Flint, discussing how to get Gryffindor back for their desecration.

Montague emerged from the showers, dripping water from his hair and chin. Without bothering to dry himself, he pulled on a spare set of robes and his leathers. All of the team was dressed by that point, and everyone gathered around Flint for his traditional pre-match pep talk.

"Don't let their little stunt distract you," he ordered. "We've never lost a match since Harry became our Seeker." Flint was interrupted by applause from the rest of the team. "We haven't lost the Quidditch Cup since eighty-four, and I don't intend to start now. If we win this year, Slytherin will have had the Cup for ten whole years. That's never been done since Quidditch started being played here at Hogwarts. We have a chance to go into the history books."

Everyone was suitable solemn at that prospect.

"We've gone up against this Gryffindor team before, and we know their weak spots. Their Seeker is still pathetic. Their Beaters may have had some practice since last we met, but they're still inexperienced in terms of actual matches. Bole, you and Derrick are going to take out one of the Chasers as soon as possible. We'll double-team the others and get some points on the board. I want to win by at least two or three hundred points to give us a nice cushion. Can we do it, Slytherin?"

"Up Slytherin!" they shouted.

"Again!"

"Up Slytherin!"

"More!"

"UP SLYTHERIN!"

As they flew out of the tunnel to the cheers (and jeers) of the crowd, Harry felt the excitement start to build. There really was nothing like Quidditch. He was a part of something, a team. They flew together, struggled together, and triumphed together.

"Here is the Slytherin team!" the commentator, Lee Jordan of Gryffindor, announced to the packed stadium. "Bletchley, Bole, Derrick, Flint, Montague, Potter, and Pucey!"

Harry followed as Flint led the team in a circuit of the pitch, glorying in the adulations of the crowd. He showed off a bit by taking both hands off the handle of his Firebolt and steering with just his legs. He caught his friends looking very impressed with his skill.

"And here comes Gryffindor!" Jordan shouted joyously. "Bell, Frobisher, Johnson, Panning, Sharpp, Spinnet, and Wood!"

The cheers that greeted the Gryffindors were louder than those for Slytherin. Not surprising, given that many at Hogwarts had little love for the house of serpents.

The teams landed at the centre of the pitch, and Flint stepped out to exchange a so-called friendly handshake with Wood, his opposite. Each boy glared raw hatred at the other and tried to crush the other's hand. Madam Hooch watched them, disapproval plain on her face, but it appeared that even she had become resigned to the dislike that existed between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

"Gryffindor, are you ready?"

"Yes!" they shouted in one voice.

"Slytherin, are you ready?"

The Slytherins responded with wild howls and excited shouting, which set off their supporters in the stands once more.

"I'm releasing the Snitch!" The golden ball buzzed towards Bell, ducked around her head, and disappeared. "Quaffle is loose!"

Johnson made the first grab, and she immediately threw to Spinnet, who had positioned herself down the pitch. It was a good opening play. Spinnet dodged around Pucey, passed to Bell. Bell gave the Quaffle back to Johnson, who faked out Bletchley to score the first points.

"Ten-love, Gryffindor!" Jordan called out.

"Bletchley, pay attention!" Flint screamed as he caught the Quaffle and moved towards the Gryffindor hoops.

It happened so soon that Harry was sure he must be imagining things. He could have sworn that he saw the Snitch dancing along near the hoops that Bletchley was guarding. It was very exciting, because he'd never seen the Snitch come out so early. He leaned low over his broom, tuning out Jordan's crestfallen voice announce that the score was now tied.

Bletchley cocked an eyebrow at him as Harry soared in, eyes peeled for the Snitch. "I haven't seen it," he yelled.

"You should have been looking for the Quaffle!" Harry yelled back. "Let me worry about it!"

Bletchley's face turned an ugly shade of red. If not for the fact that they were in the middle of a match, Harry was sure the older boy would have tried to do something about his cheek. As it was, he made a rude gesture in Harry's direction and turned back to the match.

Harry looked hard, but the Snitch was nowhere to be found. If it had been here, Bletchley had scared it off. He swore mildly and made a wide, looping turn back up-pitch.

"Twenty-ten, Slytherin."

It was faint at first, but as more people gradually joined in, Harry could hear it clearly. Some boys in the stands were singing. As he listened, Harry felt his temper start to rise.

"Potter's a rotter, he falls off his broom! He's weak and pathetic, he'll fall down go boom!"

There, surrounded by red and gold, stood three singing Weasleys. Numerous other Gryffindors were singing as well.

"Potter's a rotter, he'll land in the mud! He'll fall off his broom, cuz he's just a big dud!"

Harry wondered if Peeves had helped them write the lyrics. They were very juvenile, as was the stunt. It was one more attempt to put Slytherin, and particularly Harry, off his game. Even though he knew that, Harry couldn't help but get distracted.

"Potter's a rotter, he falls off his broom!"

Harry had stayed on a jinxed broomstick in his first year. How could anyone forget that? It was easy when the whole school had seen him fall during the unofficial match at the start of term.

"He's weak and pathetic, he'll fall down go boom!"

Harry knew he wasn't weak. Professor Lupin had been most emphatic that dementors were absolutely awful things. Nobody who'd been through what Harry had could be expected to stand up without defences.

"Potter!" Bole shouted, flying close to whack a Bludger that Harry hadn't seen coming. "Wake up!"

"Thanks, Bole!" If not for the Beater, Harry likely _would_ have been knocked off his broom. Oh, how Weasley would have loved that.

"The Snitch flew by Derrick a few minutes ago, but he was keeping a Bludger away from Montague."

"I'll look for it," Harry promised.

"You'd better," Bole warned him.

The score had crept up to thirty even. Gryffindor's Beaters were showing a marked improvement over their last encounter. Flint hadn't been able to get any of his attack patterns started. Those points that had been scored seemed entirely due to luck.

"Potter's a rotter!" Harry tuned it out, just like Jordan's biased commentary. That double-team on Bell wasn't cheating, just creative flying.

"Gryffindor scores! Forty-thirty, Gryffindor!"

Just then, Harry spotted the Snitch! He reacted instantly, zooming towards the fluttering bit of shiny gold. He forgot the chill in the air, thinking only of catching the game-ending ball. Panning was nowhere nearby, and it was almost too easy as Harry's fingers clamped tightly, the wings tickling his hand.

"And Harry Potter has caught the Snitch. Slytherin wins, one-eighty to forty."

The Slytherins cheered, but most of the crowd made various expressions of disappointment. Harry almost shared their sentiment. The match had taken barely any time at all. Still, a win was a win, which was better than a loss, especially to Gryffindor.

The stands began to empty, and the teams headed for the changing rooms. In the shower, Harry warmed up under the hot spray after the chill of the autumn day. The team headed back up to the castle when they'd washed off the sweat of the match and into the dungeons where a raucous celebration awaited them. Flint sat at the head of the table, his due as captain of the team. Harry chose to sit with the Beaters.

"Flint, what are we going to do about the changing room?" Bletchley asked.

Flint swallowed a huge gulp of pumpkin juice and turned a disappointed expression to his Keeper. "A leader must be creative and resolute, Bletchley." He pointed at two second year boys. "You two! Get down to the changing room on the double. You're on clean-up duty."

"Get stuffed!" Arcen Bulstrode sassed back.

Millie gave her younger brother a smack upside the head. "Don't be mouthy! Go!"

The younger Bulstrode turned to Lucas Slater, who had also been given his marching orders. "Do we stand for this?"

"Just think, Arse. When we're on the team, _we_ can give orders to ickle kiddies." Lucas had a definite optimistic viewpoint.

Arcen made a horrible face, but he got to his feet all the same, taking one last swig of milk. The two boys departed through the entrance wall.

"See?" Flint said to the rest of the team. "It really is that easy."

On Sunday morning in the common room, Professor Snape made an appearance and an announcement. "All prefects will report to me in the first Potions laboratory immediately following dinner. Failure to report is not advised."

Harry spent the day working on his homework. He always seemed to leave it until Sunday; Saturday it was nice to just relax and take a break from academics. He polished off his assignments for Potions, Herbology, and Defence in short order. He breezed through his History of Magic essay and started on his Astronomy and Charms while the others were still bogged down writing the full scroll for Professor Binns.

Crabbe broke the silence. "Harry, could I have a peek at your History essay?" That was nothing new. He was always asking one of the others to more or less copy their assignments.

"Depends," Harry replied, concentrating on not smearing his ink. "Can I borrow your Astronomy essay?" The bigger boy was good at Astronomy and little else.

"Sure." He handed it over without a qualm. "Thanks."

Harry held out his History scroll. "Be careful. The ink isn't dry yet."

"I'll be careful."

At the appointed hour, Harry headed for the Potions classrooms. He was the first to arrive, so he flipped open his History notes to study for a bit longer. He ignored the curious looks of the prefects as they arrived in pairs. Professor Snape started the lecture by slamming the door behind him as he walked in.

"Your duties and responsibilities have just been assigned a new dimension. Each of you will master the Patronus Charm, or I will find other students to wear those silver badges. The students of this school, and many in this House, are adversely affected by the dementors. We have witnessed one attack already this year, and there appear to be more of the things than previously believed. Ergo, you as prefects will help the teachers in the protection of your fellow students. The incantation is _expecto patronum_. Say it!"

"Expecto patronum."

"Again."

"Expecto patronum."

"Again."

"_Expecto patronum!_"

"Excellent. Wands out. The wand movement is thus. No, _thus_, Bletchley. Look at Miss Chandler. Yes, Miss Rosier, good. Don't stop, Higgs! Miss Zabini, put some spirit into it. You can pine over Mister Malfoy on your own time."

Snape's teaching style was somewhat abrupt. Granted, the need for the prefects to learn the charm was urgent, and it was best to weed out those who couldn't grasp it immediately, but Harry didn't exactly feel like failing miserably in front of the whole of the Slytherin prefecture. No, thank you. He slunk out of the back of the room when Snape paused to correct Palce's grip on his wand.

_I should have known better than to try to train with the elite_, Harry thought ruefully as he walked away from the classroom. _Guess I'll just have to wait for Professor Lupin._ That prospect wasn't so bad, though. If he'd embarassed Snape by royally mucking up when Snape had been so generous as to let him try, the consequences would have been horrible.

to be continued...


	12. Harry's First Real Kiss

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Twelve - Harry's First Real Kiss**

Harry came back through the wall entrance to the Slytherin common room and joined the lads at one of the round tables. Crabbe and Goyle still had parchment in front of them, but Draco and Tim seemed finished with their homework. Harry was in no mood to finish the last of his own, so he left his books in his bag.

"Back already?" Draco asked in surprise.

"I don't know what I was thinking," Harry admitted. "Snape's the hardest taskmaster of all the staff, and he's drilling the prefects. He's the sort to keep them there all night. I can't keep up with that."

"Not for that spell, no," Tim concurred. "So what are you going to do?"

"Wait for Professor Lupin to have time," Harry said with a shrug.

"And you're okay with that?"

"I'm not happy about it, if that's what you mean. But there's no real third option, is there?" Harry wasn't about to go asking any of the other professors to give him private lessons.

"You know what it's called, at least. You can read about it."

"I'll be better prepared than I was tonight," Harry agreed, then decided to change the subject. "Where'd the girls go?"

"They didn't say," Tim answered. "Blaise just sort of looked at Jenna without saying anything for a minute. Then they both looked at Pansy, and all three of them rushed back to the dorm. Millie went after them, but she hasn't come back yet."

"Which one of you said something to offend them?"

"That's just it," Draco jumped in. "We weren't talking. We were all reading."

"That's very strange."

"Girls are strange," Draco corrected.

Before Harry could agree with that statement, he caught sight of Laine Slater emerging from the corridor that led to the girls' dormitories. She scanned the common room, spotted Harry, smiled, and made directly for their table.

"Hi, Harry," she said brightly, standing about three feet away.

"Laine, how are you?"

"I'm sad," she told him in a mournful tone.

"Sad? Why sad?"

"Because a boy promised to bring me a present from Hogsmeade and he hasn't." Laine sniffed dramatically.

Harry felt his face turn red. With all that had gone on in the last week, he'd completely forgotten about the presents he'd promised to the second year girls.

"Laine, I'm sorry," he said at once. "I didn't forget you, I swear. Wait right here. Draco, come on."

Harry and Draco quick-stepped to the dormitory, and Harry dug into his trunk to pull out the boxes. He handed Shawna's quill to Draco. "Pheasant-feather," Draco said, calling the gift to mind.

"Yes."

Back in the common room, Harry rescued Laine from Crabbe and Goyle, who were arguing about who had knocked over the ink bottle.

"May we pay you lovely ladies a visit?" Draco asked, making a lavish little bow.

"Bad form," Laine scolded him. "Ginny is there. What would she say if you just came in and handed out presents?"

"Michelle isn't getting a present. Not now, anyway," Harry added, remembering his bargain with her.

"Still."

"I thought you'd like your gifts in person, but that's fine," Harry agreed.

Laine smiled beatifically. "I _am_ getting my gift in person."

Harry handed her the box. She opened it immediately and gasped at the eagle feather. "Harry, this is gorgeous! It must have cost a fortune!"

"Do you like it?"

"I do! Thank you!"

"You're welcome." Harry didn't know what he would have done had she disliked it. "This is for Sarrah," he said, handing over the bottle of butterbeer.

"She thanks you."

"I got this for Shawna," Draco lied smoothly as he handed Laine another box from Scrivenshift's. In truth, Harry had gotten it for him to give to Shawna, but that was proper; Shawna had only been in a position to ask a gift because Harry had asked a favour.

"She'll be delighted."

"How's it working out?" Harry asked curiously. "Is she turning into a good Slytherin?"

Laine giggled. "She's still very much a Gryffindor. But not to worry, we're working on her. Maybe by next Christmas she'll be fit to invite out in public."

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Laine," he said simply.

"You're most welcome, Harry," she replied sweetly. "Good night."

"Good night."

The rest of November passed without Harry's notice.

Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff when their Chasers lost all sense of team spirit and tried to score all by themselves, making easy targets for Ravenclaw's new Beaters. Harry watched the match feeling almost embarassed for Cedric Diggory, captain of Hufflepuff's team - almost. Harry would not soon forget how Diggory had lured him into a Wronski Feint during their match last year. The devious Seeker trick had caused heavy damage to his Nimbus 2000 that had cost him a pretty penny to have repaired. As it was, Harry cheered Ravenclaw on, marvelling at how good they were with four second year students on the team.

In practice, the Slytherins were working on all kinds of rough playing techniques, to rattle the wits of those inexperienced second years. Flint never let them forget that they played Ravenclaw in the middle of January. He'd been doing everything he could to learn about Ravenclaw's new line-up.

Harry was so busy with Quidditch practice, classes, and homework that he barely had any time to plan pranks to pull on Weasley. The haze of rain announcing the beginning of December took him quite by surprise. It was not long after that when Professor Snape came around to take the names of those who would be staying at the castle for the Christmas holiday.

Harry had accepted an invitation to Malfoy Manor. While Tim's father had also invited him back, Harry wanted to talk to Elan about girls and how complicated they all seemed to be. Harry was finding himself just watching Blaise going about everyday tasks. Then she would notice him looking, smile at him, and all the blood in his body would rush to his head. Face flaming, collar too tight, he would turn his attention to whatever else was at hand. He was looking forward to some time away from whatever it was she was doing to him so he could figure it out.

Blaise wasn't the only girl to give Harry cause for concern. Jenna approached him in the common room on the first Friday of December and asked for a word in private. Ignoring the hoots of laughter from his mates, he followed her out through the entrance wall and down the corridor to a Potions classroom. As she cast a Locking Charm on the door, Harry suddenly wondered what crazy idea Jenna might have come up with. This was a girl, afterall, who had thought to pour pink paint on a dementor.

"Despite what those lugs think they know," she began, "I didn't lure you here for a snog."

Well thank Merlin for that. "I'm crushed," Harry teased her. "That's why I came." Joking was safe. He knew where things stood when they were joking.

"Git," she snickered. "I actually wanted to ask a favour without the others listening in."

"What, you don't think they're huddled outside the door right now?" Harry snorted. "_Alohamora!_" The lock clicked open, and Harry pulled the door wide to reveal four grinning Slytherin third years.

"Lighting a fire under the old cauldron, Harry?" Draco asked impudently.

"Shut up, Draco."

Draco grinned. "Thank you. It's nice to be noticed."

He, Tim, Crabbe, and Goyle burst into laughter.

"Go on, get!" Harry burst out, waving them away. He closed the door and locked it again. He would have liked to cast a Silencing Charm, but that was fifth year magic.

"Those gits," Jenna laughed.

"Instigators is what they are," Harry grumbled. "So what is this all about?"

Jenna visibly waffled about how to express herself. "My parents are trying to break into wizarding high society," she said in a rush. "They want to throw a party on New Year's Eve, but they know all of the right people will be at a higher profile party."

"They need to raise their profile," Harry deduced.

"Yes. They've begged me to ask you if you would come." Jenna was turning a bit pink in the cheeks. "I didn't want to, but they insisted."

"What's in it for me?" Harry wanted to know. "You're not asking, they're asking."

"Well, that's just it. I am asking, Harry. My parents really want to be accepted, and I want to see them happy. I'm asking you if you'll allow them to use your name when telling people. I know you're not a fan of all the attention, but you can't tell people how to feel or not feel. And if they know you're going to be there, they'll want to go."

Harry chewed on that thought for awhile. Finally he responded, "Only because someone has to hold the party, and because I think it would be nice if everyone shared the responsibility. You're lucky I like you, Jenna."

His snarkiest friend had no witty comment now. She squealed with delight, bounced on her heels, and wrapped her arms around him, throwing him off balance as he awkwardly caught her. He groaned as she squeezed him around the middle.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed. "Harry, this means so much to me. I'm your friend forever for this."

"You mean we weren't before?"

"Shut up, Harry," she dismissed his joke with a final squeeze that left Harry gasping for air and speculating about a cracked rib.

When the Hogsmeade weekend came, Harry was extremely glad for the term to be over. With their big tests over with, there was nothing for the third years to do but relax, goof off, do some Christmas shopping, and have a few butterbeers in the Three Broomsticks. They would have to pack up their trunks later, but for now, they had a day off. Despite it being Saturday, everyone was up early and up to breakfast quickly. They passed a scowling Filch at the huge front door to the castle; he was checking off names on a list as students scampered past.

Snow was still lightly falling, and everyone's spirits were light as they made their way down the path to the front gates. As they approached the exit from the Hogwarts grounds, Harry felt the awful coldness creep into his body. He frowned, for it seemed further to the gate than he remembered. Each step grew harder and harder. Harry looked up ahead, and what he saw filled him with dread.

_Two_ dementors stood guard outside the open gates. Harry called to mind Professor Lupin's words. "The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist them." Already he could hear him mum's pleading, begging Voldemort for Harry's life. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to spill his breakfast all over the path.

He stopped walking. He stared at the dementors vacantly, imagining them staring back through their black hoods. His knees started trembling. Beads of sweat burst out on his forehead. His teeth began to chatter.

"Harry!" Blaise said sharply, grabbing him by the front of his robes and shaking him slightly. "Harry, look at me!"

His eyes were totally unfocused.

"Harry! Quick, get him away from the gate!"

Goyle and Crabbe, the biggest boys in the third form, lifted Harry up by the arms and quick-stepped him fifty long paces back towards the castle. They sat him down on the ground, and Blaise dropped to her knees to look in Harry's eyes again.

"Blasted dementors," she muttered. "Harry, can you hear me?"

There was no response.

"Someone give me some chocolate," Blaise demanded. "Now!"

"You don't bring sweets with you to the sweet shop," Crabbe pointed out. "It's rude."

"Shut up, Crabbe," Draco snapped. "Go get some."

"I'll go," Millie said, setting off to the castle in a dash.

"Harry, stay with me!" Harry's eyes hadn't rolled back in his head, so he was still somewhat conscious.

Draco also knelt down to try to break through the haze. "Harry, Weasley's coming. You need to get up and hex him."

Despite that lovely invitation, Harry didn't even blink. Goyle crouched down to the ground and picked up a double handful of snow. He packed it in his hands, forming a spherical object. With precise aim, he landed the snowball in the middle of Harry's forehead with a loud smack!

"Goyle, you cretin!" Blaise snarled, turning wrathful eyes on the boy.

Harry, though, came back to reality instantly. He shook his head and blinked rapidly. He clambered to his feet and wrapped his cloak tigher. He looked long and hard at the dementors, his eyes filled with loathing. Why did the Ministry even have dealings with these _things_?

"Harry, come away," Blaise urged him, pulling at his arm. "Millie's bringing some chocolate."

Harry shook his head again. "I don't need to be taken care of." He crouched down and scopped up a handful of snow. "I need to have a good laugh." Professor Lupin had told him that dementors fed on happy memories, so perhaps making some new ones and having a right laugh would make this awful feeling go away.

The smacking sound as Harry's snowball impacted on Goyle's head was very satisfying. "Have at you, fathead!"

"My head's not fat!"

The snowball fight quickly escalated to include the others, and they forgot all about Hogsmeade and the dementors as they ran, laughing, back towards the castle. They met Millie, who was running out of the castle with two Chocolate Frog boxes in each hand. Harry practically swallowed them whole, and the warmth that spread through him could have melted the snow.

The girls turned on the boys, and the boys responded by pouring snow down the backs of the girls' cloaks. Then Crabbe and Goyle decided to take on all comers and used their wands to direct a steady stream of snowballs at anyone who tried to challenge them.

When they were all so exhausted from throwing and laughing that they could barely stand, they found an unblemished patch of ground and made snow angels. Millie suggested digging under one of the snow drifts, but that seemed like far too much work when they'd be leaving the castle tomorrow.

They went inside for lunch and some hot tea. Most of the others left for Hogsmeade shortly thereafter. Though all of them expressed regret at having to leave Harry behind, there was Christmas shopping to do, and Harry found himself alone.

Well, not exactly alone. Draco was there, still unable to visit the village, but he was a wet blanket. Harry could only tolerate Draco's surly complaining for so long before he had sharp words of his own, but it was pointless to quarrel with his best mate. Draco had risked his own father's wrath to rescue Harry after his first year at Hogwarts; that counted for a lot. So he listened to Draco's rant for as long as he could and then he headed to the library.

Now this was not a place he would normally go to when looking for a fun time, but his morning encounter with the dementors had reminded him that he had not done his research into the Patronus Charm. He pulled down _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade Seven_ and flipped to the index.

The afternoon passed without Harry's notice as he was absorbed by his reading. He was considerably startled when Jenna found him and said that the others were gathering in the Great Hall for dinner.

After dinner, they began packing their belongings, for there would be no time in the morning. With that task complete, Harry sat before the common room fireplace, staring into the flames.

"I always hate to leave this place," he said to Goyle, who had simply shoved his clothes into his trunk and sat on the lid to latch it. "Nowhere else has ever felt like home."

"But you're looking forward to Christmas, right?" Goyle asked.

"Yes. Last year was so much fun."

"My parents are looking forward to meeting you again. They asked me to pass on their regards in their last letter."

Harry honestly didn't remember meeting Mr. and Mrs. Goyle. Try though he might, he could not call their of their faces to mind. "I'd like to meet them again, too. We didn't get much of a chance to say much more than hello last year."

"Dad was quite impressed with you, you know. Said he liked the look of you, whatever that means."

"Compared to who?" Harry asked with a laugh.

Goyle's response was interrupted as Blaise dragged a beanbag chair over. "'Whom', Harry, compared to _whom_."

"Yes, Professor Dictionary," he teased her.

"That'll be five points to Slytherin for your cheek," she threw right back.

"Thank you, Professor."

Blaise rolled her eyes at him. "So what colour shirt are you wearing to the Christmas party, Harry?"

"I don't know."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not Christmas Eve, and I'm not getting dressed," he told her.

"He's got you there," Goyle laughed.

The next morning on the platform, Harry tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the train to stop moving. He grabbed the handle of his trunk and wheeled it towards the door, but stopped in his tracks. Exiting the train was someone Harry hadn't expected to see.

"Elan!" Draco cried out, delight at seeing his older brother plain in his voice.

"Draco!"

"What are you doing here?" Draco cocked his head questioningly.

"I came to see you, of course," Elan responded, sounding as if it were completely obvious. "And Harry, you're looking well. I've come to see you through the Floo network."

"Not to see your girlfriend?" Harry teased. Elan had needled Percy about Fawcett in Diagon Alley, so bringing up Jamie seemed to be the thing to do.

"Yes, well," Elan said noncomitally. "I'm always delighted to see Jamie. All aboard, then?"

Elan helped them all to stack their trunks in one compartment and drew his wand to cast a few Enlargement Charms to give them all enough room to spread out in another compartment. He sat down in the corner and stretched his legs out.

"Who's the best Potions student this year?" he asked casually.

"Definitely Blaise," Harry replied. She was his partner, so he was in a position to know.

"Harry's not so bad himself," Blaise giggled.

"I scored higher than both of you on the last quiz," Tim protested.

"By a point," Blaise scoffed.

"A point's a point. You could win the House Cup by a point."

"He's right, Blaise," Draco said, coming to the defence of a fellow bloke.

"Nobody asked you, Draco."

"Draco, am I right?" Tim asked.

"Naturally." Draco ran a hand back over his hair.

"Will you gits stop admiring each other?" Pansy sneered. "Who cares about Potions? Elan, tell us about _your_ classes. What's Astronomy like there? Is the teacher as good as Professor Sinistra?"

So Elan talked about Durmstrang and his experiences there. Thanks to numerous complicated questions by the academic Tim and Blaise, Elan spent much of his breath in describing his N.E.W.T.-level classes. He taught them a few phrases in German. He made note of the important families he'd been making contacts with. Elan was an entertaining storyteller, and before it seemed possible, the train ride back to London was over.

When they'd all hustled off the Express and onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Harry's friends all went their separate ways. Harry was sad even though he knew he would see them all in five days. Harry was looking forward to the Christmas Eve party and not choking on his dress robes this year.

Without incident, Elan led Harry and Draco down to Puddlemucker's sweet shoppe where they took the Floo to Malfoy Manor. The house elves were waiting in the parlor to take their bags up to their rooms. Elan snapped off a few orders regarding luncheon before he ushered the two younger boys into the dining room.

"Father had a business lunch," Elan explained as they started in on the food without preamble. "Mother went with him, and afterward they'll be going out on the town, so we're on our own until tomorrow."

"That's brill," Draco said around a mouthful of sandwich. "You can teach us how to make that death mask."

"Sure."

When lunch was over, Harry and Draco tagged along after Elan as the former prefect headed down to the basements of Malfoy Manor. In a room filled with weights, Elan removed his robes, revealing clothing suited to exercise. He performed a few stretches before picking up a dumbbell and curling it.

"Are you going to finally lift a weight, Draco?" Elan asked between repetitions.

Draco was looking at the weights with distaste. "If I want to build muscles, I'll take a potion."

"Those potions can have very nasty side-effects," Elan cautioned. "I keep telling you, someday you'll wish you did this. If you want to attract girls, there's really no magical shortcut."

"For finding girls to snog? I'm a Malfoy, what more could she ask for?"

"Girls are complicated, little brother. Trust someone older and wiser and more experienced than you." Elan somehow managed to sound patronizing even as he was breathing in sync with his curls. He switched the dumbbell to the other hand and continued to lift it.

"You've got a lot of experience, then?" Draco sassed back. "With Jamie?"

"Not that a gentleman talks about a lady that way, but yes." Elan acknowledged. "I've kissed Jamie quite a lot, thank you very much."

"What's it like?" Harry asked suddenly.

"What?"

"What's it like? To kiss a girl?"

Draco groaned and put his head in his hands. "He's lost," he declared to the empty air.

"Got a girl you want to kiss, Harry?" Elan asked, breathing in sync with his curling.

"Blaise wants to kiss me."

"Jamie's sister?" Elan had to stop lifting. His face had the widest, most surprised expression Harry had ever seen. "Oh wow, Harry, what a choice. If she's anything like Jamie, you're going to have a lot of fun. Jamie's very sensitive right behind her left ear, so remember that."

Harry listened in astonishment as Elan talked about the best places in Hogwarts to go for some private snogging, the need to go very slowly so as not to make the girl uncomfortable, and the "really good" places to try kissing and touching. Who knew there was so much to this snogging business?

When Elan had finished his lesson, he handed Harry a dumbbell. "Curl this fifty times then switch. If you can do that, I'll let you lift something else. Draco, if you're not going to lift, bugger off."

Draco had also listened in rapt attention to Elan during his exposition. Wordlessly, he picked up a dumbbell and began his repetitions.

Several hours later, after a lot of sweating and grunting, hot showers, and a cup of tea (for it was teatime), the boys headed out to Diagon Alley. Harry needed to do his Christmas shopping. Elan balked a bit about going out again so soon, but Harry cajoled him into taking the trip by promising to buy dinner in the Leaky Cauldron. Now, as he poked through the shelves in Flourish and Blotts, he was beginning to wish he could finished up his shopping in Hogsmeade.

The selection was dismal. All of the books had been thoroughly picked over. He couldn't get any of these for his friends. He wondered which of them he would be receiving from Draco; his friend was likewise browsing the stacks.

_Maybe I should just give everyone a gift certificate_, he thought as he rejected a roughed-up copy of _Quidditch Through The Ages_. Did wizards even have gift certificates? Gringott's had promisory notes, which were magical cheques. Surely some enterprising wizards had created Charms for store credit. _Then they could get whatever they wanted._

But somehow that felt like cheating. He'd never gotten a gift certificate from any of his friends. If they all could put the thought and consideration into picking out something they hoped he would like, then he was perfectly capable of doing the same.

On the other hand, the whole purpose of the gift was to make the other person happy. What could be more tailored to that end than allowing the recipient to choose the gift?

What about the surprise factor?

What about the thought being all that counted?

In the end, Harry purchased gift certificates to the apothecary, Flourish and Blotts, Quality Quidditch Supplies, Gladrags Wizardwear, Zonko's Joke Shop, and Fortescue's ice cream shoppe. The Credit Charms, as the special parchments were called, involved a fair amount of wand-waving on the part of the clerks. The finished product was a work of art, with strange shapes drawn all over in multiple colours of ink. He had enough to distribute amongst his friends with one exception.

Draco, he'd decided weeks ago, would be given Harry's old Nimbus 2000. Though Draco considered hand-me-downs vulgar, it was because he'd come to Harry's rescue during the summer before second year that he had lost his chances at getting a new broom. Though he'd been on good behaviour since, his father still seemed to show no inclination towards such a present. Harry should know; Draco spent quite a bit of time whinging about it.

Now he turned down an unnamed lane that branched off of Diagon Alley. Harry had never come down this way at Christmas time, and the displays on the street were wildly fantastic. One of the shops was displaying wonderful, moving, wizardly paintings, and he marvelled for many long minutes before picking out a moonlit sky scene for Mr. Nott; for the Malfoys, he settled on a dignified-looking owl that flew all around the painting, never settling on any one perch for very long.

The last person on his shopping list was Elan. Harry browsed through Mortimer's Music and ended up picking out several music crystals of bands he'd never heard of. It was categorized under "rock", so hopefully that would be good. He gave a mental shrug and brushed off his worries. Either Elan would like it or not.

His guilt about the Credit Charms overcame him as he was waiting in line, so he headed back to the shelves and picked out some Celestina Warbeck and Christinia Drade for the girls and the Weird Sisters and Wand Smasher for the blokes. He'd heard his friends talking about these bands, so at least his gifts weren't going to be completely off the wall.

The Christmas party was in full swing.

Harry had been saying hello for what seemed like forever and was only finally starting to have some fun. He made a point to seek out Mr. and Mrs. Goyle, who were sitting at one of the tables and not dancing. Mr. Goyle seemed very stoic, but a light gleamed in his small eyes when his son brought Harry up to shake hands.

"Pleased t'meet'cha again," he rumbled in a deep voice. "Very glad to see Gregory making friends."

Harry made small talk for a few moments, but then Jenna came up and hauled him to the dance floor and twirled him around for a few songs. He took a break from the dancing to get himself a glass of juice. He gulped it down and refilled before parking his hips at one of the small tables that lined the dance floor. Blaise immediately sat down next to him, appearing from out of nowhere.

"Having fun?" she asked, her breath coming a tad heavy.

"Nice party," he said, trying to play it cool. In truth, the Zabinis threw a better party than the Parkinsons did. He didn't want to say that, though, and have word get back around to Pansy; it might hurt her feelings.

"Want to go get some fresh air? It's very warm in here."

A walk sounded like an excellent idea. "If I sit for too long, my legs are liable to cramp up," he admitted. "Lead the way."

Blaise took him by the hand and they made their way through the crowd. The Zabini house didn't hold quite the numbers that had packed into Parkinson Place to ring in the new year, but Harry had long ago lost track of keeping names straight nonetheless. They ducked out into the empty hallway and down to a painting of a man on a horse.

"Gailbraithe," Blaise said quietly as the man turned to look at them. He nodded, moved to the frame, poked in the corner with his staff, and the painting swung away from the wall to reveal a secret passage!

Harry was impressed. "Where does it go?" he asked.

"Get in and find out," Blaise replied with a giggle.

So he did.

Blaise stepped in after him and closed the painting behind her, plunging the secret passage into complete darkness.

Harry broke out in a cold sweat. Was this it? Was Blaise about to try to kiss him? He felt like she was standing very close to him. Should he try to kiss her first? He tried to say something, but his mouth was so very dry. It was quiet. His own breathing sounded incredibly noisy to his own ears. His heartbeat was racing immensely fast.

"Are you ready, Harry?" Blaised asked softly. Her breath tickled his ear.

"Uh huh," he managed to say.

There was a click, incredibly loud in the stillness, and then the floor gave way beneath his feet!

Harry shouted in surprise as he fell, then he landed on a sloping slide and zoomed at high speed down to a level stop. He stood up, breath heaving in his chest from the adrenaline rush.

"What was that?" he demanded shakily. "Can we do it again?"

"That's the secret passage," Blaise replied, just as breathless as him. "It's the fastest way down to the greenhouse."

"You couldn't warn me?"

"It's much more fun this way."

Blaise pushed on the wall, and the wooden panel slid to the side to let them into the greenhouse. Moonlight streamed in through the glass ceiling, casting shadows that took on strange aspects.

"Why are we walking through the greenhouse? I thought you hated Herbology?" Harry asked in what he hoped was a teasing manner. He had to cover his awkwardness at what might have happened in the secret passage.

"I abhor dirt," Blaise admitted. "But greenhouses do have their uses." She reached out and plucked something off a plant. "Here."

She handed him a perfectly plump strawberry. It was hard to distinguish the color by moonlight, but it looked plenty ripe to him. "It's not the season for this," he observed.

"Gee," Blaise smirked at him. "It must be maaaaagic."

Harry felt a bit sheepish when he realized the obvious answer to his question. "It's good," he said, taking a big bite.

"I'll tell Daddy you said so."

Blaise lapsed into silence. She stood leaning up against one of the tables, just watching him. He bit into the rest of his treat and swallowed it just to distract himself from the look she was directing his way. He placed the green on the table and wiped his sticky fingers on the back of his robes.

"Harry?" Blaise asked softly. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

Harry's heart leaped back into his throat. He knew instinctively that his answer to this question was very important. "I do," he answered with a nod. "You're one of the prettiest girls in the third year."

Relief was plain on the girl's face. She let out a breath she'd been holding. "Do you ever - think about me? Because I think about you all the time. I think you're handsome, and sweet, and kind, and noble. I think you're just wonderful, and I can't keep it to myself anymore."

Harry didn't feel handsome or sweet or noble. He felt like he wanted to throw up. He was so nervous that he was going to do the wrong thing or say the wrong thing or not do the right thing or not say the right thing. With an effort of will, he stopped his knees from shaking.

Blaise stepped out of the shadows. She stood very close to him, not touching, but mere inches away. She gazed up at him. There was a question there, a desperate hope swimming in her eyes. She hesitantly lifted one hand to the back of his head, slowly pulling his face down to meet hers. Their lips touched. Harry couldn't believe that it was here, it had happeend. He was kissing Blaise!

How long they stood there, connected at the lips, Harry could not have said. His brain was desperately recording every feeling, every sensation. Her lips were soft and warm. Her hand was tickling the hair on the back of his neck. Her eyes were closed, and Harry wondered if he should close his. He tried it and found that it was better.

Blaise broke the kiss first. She opened her eyes, catching the glint of a stray moonbeam twinkling therein. She looked anxiously at Harry, trying to read his face, to pierce through his eyes and into his soul.

Harry smiled at her. All the nervousness he'd built up in the moments before the kiss was gone. "So you finally plucked up the nerve," he observed.

She giggled nervously. "Yeah, I guess I did. I hope you're not upset with me."

Upset? Of all the things Harry was feeling and didn't understand, upset was not one of them. "It was very nice," he told her honestly.

"For me too."

Neither really seemed to know what to say. They stood together in the moonlight. Every one of Harry's senses was tingling. All of Elan's advice about girls had flown from his head; his brain had actually short-circuited. The silence was deafening.

"Do you want to go see Wand Smasher?" he asked, babbling the first thing that he could latch on to in his scattered brain. "With me?" By Merlin, had he just asked Blaise on a date?

A warm smile was his reward for such daring. "I would like that," she replied with a nod. "When is the show?"

"Tomorrow." He had to think about it.

"What time does it start?"

"Seven."

"That should be fine. Call for me at half six."

"Okay." Harry was incapable of more than one-word answers at the moment.

After several more minutes of silence, Blaise seemed to shake herself as if waking up. "We should get back. We've probably been missed."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

to be continued...


	13. Harry's First Date

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Thirteen - Harry's First Date**

Harry Potter was going out of his head.

It was Christmas day, and Harry had excused himself after the feast to prepare for his evening out with Blaise. He went directly to his room and stared around blindly in a panic. He had no idea what to do tonight on his- his- He had no idea what to do tonight. He couldn't even say the word 'date' to himself. And he wasn't due to call on Blaise until much later. He had hours left to panic.

And panic he did.

He had no idea at all about how this was supposed to happen. The Ministry didn't hand out pamphlets on _A Wizard's Guide to the First Date_. All he could do was cross his fingers and hope for the best.

He frowned as that phrase crossed his mind. Lumping himself with the Chudley Cannons was the last thing he wanted to do. Good grief, he was a Magpies fan!

Elan had given Harry a set of weights for Christmas. Perhaps now would be a good time to break them in. He locked the door. He unfastened the front of his robes and studied himself in the mirror.

"You don't have a bit of fat on you, dear," the mirror said. "Those shoulders are defined too."

It was all due to his summer exercise regimen. With nothing else to do while locked up, he had worked out as best he could. He would have to start doing that again.

For now, though, he picked up the dumbbells and began counting his curls. He made sure to work both arms equally as Elan had cautioned him.

When he'd worked up a good sweat, Harry stopped and wiped his brow. He glanced at his watch and groaned when he saw that only fifteen minutes had passed. He put down the weights and started doing push-ups.

He eventually collapsed to the floor with heaving breaths. Sweat poured off him. Why in Merlin's name hadn't he changed out of his robes? The fabric felt sticky and confining against his skin. With a groan, he rolled over and sat up. When he felt steady enough, he continued up to his feet. He grabbed his bath things and staggered out of the room for a wash.

The hot spray of the shower restored his vigour, and he actually felt quite good as he turned off the water and towelled off. He stuffed his dirty robes into the laundry chute and returned to his room, where he stared in dismay at his selection of clothing. The last time he'd gone to see Wand Smasher, he'd worn black robes. But it was Christmas. You couldn't wear black on Christmas. Green. Yes, green was good. Green was a Christmas colour.

There was a knock on his door.

"Yes?" he asked, and he winced as his voice cracked.

"It's Draco. May I come in?"

Harry finished fastening the robes he'd picked out. "Just a minute."

He opened the door to reveal Draco leaning casually against the frame. "How come you're taking so long to get ready?" he asked in an insulting tone of voice. "Are you trying to impress Blaise by trying to be handsome?"

"At least there's hope for some of us," Harry riposted. "Others are doomed to look like you."

"That would be funny if it was funny."

"Don't you have something better to do than bother me?" Harry wished his best mate didn't take such a pleasure in winding him up.

"There's nothing I'd rather be doing," Draco promised him. "Are you going to kiss her?"

Harry hadn't yet told Draco about last night. He didn't want to talk about it now either.

"Why don't you go fly a broom?"

Draco grinned at him with poorly contained glee. "Thank you again, Harry, for giving me your old broom. It was the best Christmas present a chap could have. I'll be sure to make the team next year!"

"You're welcome. If you're going to fly, Draco, fly in style."

"Spoken like a bloke who flies a prototype."

Harry successfully kept the conversation turned away from his impending date with Blaise. The two boys talked mostly about Quidditch (the Magpies were once again leading the hunt for the English Cup). Harry was just naming his pick for Player of the Year when the clock chimed half past six o'clock. Draco chuckled as Harry jumped out of his skin and onto his feet.

"Harry, relax. You _know_ Blaise. Nothing's going to be any different."

Harry wanted very much to believe that.

Draco clapped him on the shoulder, wished him luck, and went to have another go on the Nimbus 2000. Harry went to the sitting room and threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace.

"Villa Zabini," he spoke into the green flames. He knelt down and stuck his head into the fire.

It was very dizzying, with bright lights flashing all around him like a fireworks display. When the spinning stopped, he leaned forward a tad further and poked his head through the grate.

"Hello?" he called out. "It's Harry. Blaise, are you there?"

"Harry!" Blaise bounced up from the chair she was sitting on and hurried over to the fireplace. "Mother, I'm leaving now!"

"Wait just a minute, missy!" Mrs. Zabini came into the room and reached the fireplace in only a few powerful strides. She knelt down and took Blaise by the chin, turning her face to the light. "Good, no make-up. Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

"You take good care of my daughter." She shook her finger towards the fireplace. "I want you two back here the moment that show is over, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said again.

"Blaise, be careful."

"I will, Mother."

Harry pulled his head out of the fireplace. He rubbed at his eyes and stepped back as green flames suddenly sprang up and Blaise emerged from the Floo.

"Hey," he said in greeting.

"Hey, yourself."

"How was Christmas?"

"It was wonderful. Yours?"

"It was great. You should have seen Draco's face when he unwrapped his broom."

"His father got him a new broom?"

"No, I gave him my old Nimbus."

"Ah, so there are some things he'll accept as hand-me-downs," Blaise giggled. "Where is the great prat, anyway?"

"He's gone flying. Keeps raving about how he's going to try out for the team next year."

"He's mad."

"I know," Harry admitted. "But you'll never convince him of that."

She giggled again. "I wouldn't even want to try."

Harry nodded.

The conversation died.

They stood there for a few moments in silence. Butterflies were fluttering around in Harry's stomach. For no reason at all, he felt himself start to blush. Blaise smiled at him. He smiled back at her, feeling incredibly goofy and giddy.

"We can go in just a minute," she said, breaking eye contact and rummaging in her pocket. She pulled out a small bag. "I just need to do my make-up."

Harry was shocked. "But your mum-"

"Isn't here. I'll scrub it off before I go home, but I want to look pretty!" Blaise's declaration held a note of challenge. She also had a determined glint in her eye.

Before he could even think about it, Harry blurted, "But you are pretty."

Blaise blushed and turned her head. "Oh, stop it," she said - more to herself, he thought.

"I'll be right here waiting."

While Blaise ducked out to the bathroom, Harry took several deep breaths to clear his head. He meandered meaninglessly about the room.

The sitting room of Malfoy Manor was lavishly decorated with expensive furnishings. The chairs and sofa were all of a rich brown leather. The floor was hardwood and covered in thick rugs. The fireplace through which they would shortly be passing was the focal point of the room. He noticed all the fine details with a nodding respect for the artisan.

"Nervous, Harry?" Elan's voice made Harry jump. He looked over his shoulder and saw the boy peeking around the corner. "I was, first time I took Jamie out."

Harry suddenly wished desperately that he had time to hear that story. "Any advice?"

"Just be yourself. That's what caught her interest in the first place. Pay for the drinks, smile a lot, and say lots of nice things to her. Don't worry. You'll do great, I'm sure."

"That makes one of us," Harry said with a wry laugh.

"I expect that Harry will conduct himself with perfect dignity, Elan," Mr. Malfoy said, joining the two boys in the sitting room. Mrs. Malfoy was only a step behind. "Unlike some, whose performances I could recall."

Elan's face grew wary. "I've always been discrete, Father."

"The train station is hardly discrete," Mr. Malfoy observed dryly.

"That was Jamie, not me!" Elan sounded defensive. "She hadn't seen me for months!"

Mrs. Malfoy turned to face her husband, stepping closer to Elan. "And who could blame her? I don't." She kissed her eldest's cheek. "We have a fine son, Lucius."

Mr. Malfoy shook his head. "She's a silly girl," he declared with finality. "The sooner you're rid of her, the better."

"I'll break up with Jamie when _I_ choose, Father," Elan said. "And besides, what's wrong with showing affection?"

"In private, nothing." Mr. Malfoy waved his hand dismissively. "Do what you will, Elan. So long as you remember your responsibility to marry pure and carry on the family line, I don't suppose it much matters. I just wish you would consider the politics of the situation."

"Father," Elan said calmly, "I understand more about politics than I think you realize."

Mr. Malfoy peered at his eldest son with an inquisitive expression. "My love, would you excuse us, please? I think Elan and I need to have a father-son chat."

"Of course, darling." Mrs. Malfoy gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "I wanted to talk to Harry anyway."

"Be safe, Harry," Mr. Malfoy cautioned.

"I will."

"And have fun!" Elan ordered him as he left the room. Mr. Malfoy put his arm around his son's shoulders.

Harry grinned.

"Are you excited, Harry?" Mrs. Malfoy inquired. She took a seat on the chair closest to the fireplace.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

"I don't know what sort of etiquette you learned from Muggles, Harry," and by her expression, she didn't think they had much to teach, "but I feel it's important that you know a few things about pureblood society and how it is expected that a gentleman will behave." Though her voice was mild, the piercing look she was giving him immediately grounded his attention. She had the same posture that he'd seen from his professors.

"Yes, ma'am."

"At this show, I'm given to understand that there will be older children there. I know they will be doing things that are not appropriate. Do not take that as a sign that you are also free to engage in similar behaviour. This is your first date with a young lady, so you may hold her hand if she gives permission." She stressed those last four words.

"Holding hands," he repeated, nodding his head.

"You will open doors for her, you will pull out her chair, and you will pay for her drinks."

"Yes, ma'am."

"When the show is over, you will both immediately Floo back here. If you have acted the gentleman, Blaise may be so generous as to allow you to kiss her goodnight. More than a few seconds is inappropriate." Every syllable of the last word was pronounced.

Well, he'd already blown that rule.

"You are going to see a musical performance, not engage in- in- public displays of affection. Accord yourself with dignity, please."

"Don't embarrass myself?" he suggested.

"Yes," Mrs. Malfoy agreed with a sharp nod. "As Professor Snape would advise you, remember that you are a Slytherin. Remember that people will be watching you."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said again.

Any further advice was interrupted as Blaise came back into the room. She smiled keenly at Harry, who felt his knees wobble. He said goodbye to Mrs. Malfoy and threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fire.

"Club Cave on Mountainside!"

Harry must have been getting used to Floo travel, because he was barely dizzy as they came out of the fireplace. He looked around and saw that the "fireplace" was really nothing more than a large fire pit. They were ushered into a line of people who were filing into the cave. Already there was music playing; Harry knew from his communique with Mr. Podgourney that Wand Smasher had a lesser-known band playing before them.

They waited patiently in the queue. The girl collecting money at the counter looked bored to death, and she said, "Four Galleons. Seven for the pair of you."

"Harry Potter. I'm on the list for Wand Smasher."

It was at that point that things started to get out of control.

The girl stared at him in disbelief. Harry could almost read her mind. Surely the great Harry Potter wasn't standing in front of _her_. The noble Harry Potter couldn't possibly want to go out and see a show. The very real Harry Potter tried not to snort with mocking laughter. He was out on his first date with a pretty girl and had direct access to the band; this could be the best night of his life, and he wasn't about to let this bint ruin it."

"I said, I'm on the list," he repeated slowly.

The girl shook herself out of her trance and muttered an apology. She buried her face in some documents she had before her, scanning down the parchment with her finger. "Potter," she said under her breath, still not sounding as though she believed it.

"Ah!" she exclaimed. "Yes, here you are!" She handed him two squares of thick parchment that glittered and flashed with glowing runes. "Go on in." So they did.

Harry heard her say as they moved away, "That was Harry Potter!" He rolled his eyes. He would be lucky to not get mobbed tonight.

"I'll protect you," Blaise laughed when he expressed as much to her.

"Why don't people understand that I'd rather be left alone?" he asked almost plaintively. "I'd rather have my mum and dad than have them gawking at me."

"You cannot change the past, Harry. All you can do is try to cope with the present in a responsible fashion while utilizing your gifts as best you can. Let them gawk."

Blaise was always one for deep thought. Even if she did giggle a lot with Pansy, Harry thought she was very smart and very wise. While he didn't suppose he would ever come to enjoy his fame, perhaps it would be best if he learned to deal with it.

Just then, Harry spotted someone he knew. "Mister Podgourney!" he called out.

The man's head snapped around, and his eyes lit up when he saw Harry's waving hand. He hurried over and bowed slightly. "Mister Potter, good evening." He turned to Blaise. "Young lady, I am Sydney Podgourney, manager for the renowned band Wand Smasher, and I am your host tonight."

"Blaise Zabini," she replied in a clear voice. "A pleasure, sir."

"If you'll both follow me, I'll take you backstage."

Harry walked next to Blaise as they pressed further into the cave. The manager led them down a side tunnel where he waved a badge at the burly-looking security wizards. They uncrossed their staves and continued their surveillance.

The tunnel came out into a big room filled with couches and cushions and chairs. Large boxes of equipment were piled in the corners. Five familiar faces of the members of Wand Smasher lit up with smiles as they caught sight of Harry.

"Lads, it's wee Potter, come to see us play," Edgar announced in his easy brogue. He stood up and offered Harry his hand. "So glad to see you."

"Thanks for inviting me," Harry said with a nod. "This is my friend Blaise."

"Lass, I'm Edgar, and these are my guitar players, Agatha and Emma." The lead singer sounded as proud as he would be about showing off the sun.

"Hi!" the two girls waved. They were wearing matching costumes, though Harry could not tell what they were supposed to be, nor could he fully justify saying that they matched. The patterns were the same, but the colours were different. Emma's costume was dominated by fluorescent yellow, while Agatha was bedecked in fluorescent purple. Each also had an explosion of her colour in her very wild hair.

"The lads, Kevin and Stan. They've got mashed potatoes fer brains and gravy fer blood, but they've got hearts of pure gold."

"Edgar, I didn't know you cared," Kevin, the drummer, who was wearing a red tunic with flames drawn on it. Harry spotted a few runes embroidered on the cloth and would have bet a Galleon that at some point tonight, Kevin would be on fire. Good thing he'd shaved all his hair off.

"He doesn't," Stan replied. The bass guitarist looked quite fierce with his black mowhawk (which was squared-off) and his face painted with evil-looking symbols. "He likes us only for the sweat of our brow."

"I do," Edgar insisted. "I know I ride you guys pretty hard sometimes, but look at where we are! Look at what we're doing! Harry's little friend Tim has all of our albums and couldn't wait to meet us. I _remember_ that kid. You should too. You should think of him every time you step out on stage to play, because he might be in the audience. He might have come out to see you play, and you owe it to him and all the other kids like him to play your bleeding soul out. If you think otherwise, now's the time to let me know."

Emma groaned for an extended moment. "He's not saying that, Edgar," she said, making it sound as though the lead singer were a blithering idiot. "He's saying that you're a slave driver and that we _all_ would like a break every now and again."

"We have breaks."

"Who decides them?"

"I do." Edgar sounded genuinely confused as to what the problem was.

"New rule, I decide when the breaks are," Emma declared. "Edgar, you're no longer in charge."

"As long as I'm talking with the right people, I'm in charge," Edgar said right back in the same tone of voice. "Now behave. We have guests."

Emma blew a raspberry at Edgar and turned to Harry. "Glad to see you've helped Slytherin hold on to the Quidditch Cup. We never got a formal introduction. Emma Ruthven, ninety-two Slytherin. Your first year was my last."

"You seem different, somehow," Harry said dryly, looking at the costume.

She laughed. "Yeah, can you see old McGonagall's face if she saw this? Think we could tell her it was a Transfiguration accident?"

"That colour is too repulsive to be an accident. Someone had to do it on purpose," Blaise jutted in before Harry could answer.

"Thank you!" Emma smiled. "I did it myself! Zabini, was it? Wasn't there a girl a few years behind me named Zabini?"

"My sister Jamie. She's on her last year now."

"Nice kid. A bit on the romantic side, but there are lads who like that sort."

A waiter came by, floating a tray of bizarre drink concoctions next to him. He passed out the large glasses to the band and sighed when he saw Harry and Blaise standing there.

"Get'choo summat'?"

"Do you have Butterbeer?" Harry asked.

"Aye."

"Two."

"Aye." He looked at Blaise. "You?"

"No," Harry interrupted, feeling stupid. "I meant one for me, one for her."

"Aye." He shambled off, his empty tray floating behind him.

Harry felt mortified by the waiter's mistake. He should have said that _they_ would _each_ have a Butterbeer.

"How's the tour going?" Harry said to Edgar to cover his embarrassment.

"It's great! We play every other night, and every place has been packed. We 'ad this one show in Birmingham, an' this girl climbs onto stage in the middle of Emma's solo, shucks her shirt off, throws it in the crowd, throws her_self_ at me, and tries to put 'er lips on me."

"Oh gosh!" Blaise gasped. "What happened then?"

"All I can say is that it's a good thing I didn't have me hands full with an instrument, that's for sure. I caught the bint, told her to put some clothes on, and levitated her back out into the crowd." Edgar seemed as pleased as punch with himself.

"And a damn good thing he did," Emma growled, "because I was about to smash her over the head with my guitar!"

"That would not have been a good way to end your solo," Agatha commented.

Emma scoffed. "Are you tapped? It would have been bloody _marvellous_ to do that. The crowd would have loved it. No Irish tart puts her hands on _my_ boyfriend!"

"Needless to say, Emma is not in charge of public relations," Edgar said to Blaise with a straight face.

"I just play," the lead guitarist said, tilting her nose up in the air just a smidgen and tossing her hair back.

"Good," Agatha said as she stood up. "Because it's time to play. We're on in about ten minutes. We'd better stretch."

"You're right, Ag," Edgar agreed. He also rose to his feet. "Let's grab our gear and get ready to Apparate." He turned to Harry. "Sydney will get you to Vee-Eye-Pea. You can get from there out onto the main floor if you want to thrash with the crowd. We'll be back here after the set for a bit of a break, and then again after the the second bit."

"Go get it done," Harry said solemnly.

"Right oh."

Sydney led them down to the VIP area. Several other people were present, but Harry and Blaise were the youngest by far. What sort of attention they would give the Boy-Who-Lived he didn't know, but he didn't want to discover it either. He said a small prayer that his scar would stay covered tonight.

It was probably a futile hope. He was no doubt going to get mobbed if that girl at the ticket counter kept running her mouth. And oh Merlin, what if Edgar said something? That worried him enough to keep fairly close to the entrance to the restricted area.

When the band Apparated in with a stunning explosion of purple and yellow fireworks, Harry danced a lot but didn't get out of control like some of the other folk did. Blaise was laughing and smiling and dancing and jumping with him as Wand Smasher played on and on, absolutely ruling over the crowd's emotions with the jams and lyrics.

When they took intermission, Harry and Blaise hurried backstage and found the band toasting with a bottle of bubbly. They obviously knew they sounded great. They were surrounded by well-wishers. Harry waited politely by the sides. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself. Intermission was over in an instant, and the crowd exploded with energy once more. The big finale caused nearly deafening cheers and shrieks and whistles. The flames that engulfed the stage vanished, taking the band and all the gear with them. The stage was left whole and unharmed.

Harry knew that they would never get through the crowd waiting to use the Floo network. He and Blaise sat quietly on one of the couches backstage while people rushed here and there, to and fro, carrying this, hauling away that. It was quite a fascinating process to watch. Everybody seemed to have a job to do, and once that job was done, there was another. Everyone had certain responsibilities and was trusted to get it all done in an orderly fashion.

At least that was what was yelled by the man in charge when he saw one fellow lifting more than he could handle. "Why aren't you levitating them?" he demanded angrily.

"I didn't score well enough on the insurance test," the fellow snapped back. "I'm just lending a hand. I don't see you levitating anything or even working at all!"

With those fighting words, the worker turned and continued to haul equipment and instruments out of the area.

"Wow," Blaise murmured to Harry. "That was brave."

"Stupid, maybe."

Before much longer, Edgar and Emma came up to say their goodbyes. Harry noticed they were holding hands tightly. He grinned to himself and stood up.

"Did you enjoy the show, Harry?" Emma asked.

He nodded. "You were outstanding. Fifty points to Slytherin! Per song!"

She beamed at him. "Ah, he's a little charmer, I see. Well thank you for coming. We normally play to an older crowd, but it's good to get a few young trendsetters into the music as well. All part of my cunning Slytherin plan, you see."

"Of course."

"Lass, it was a real pleasure that you came tonight," Edgar said to Blaise. "Do get home safe. I hope to see you out at another show. I'll have a song I write just for you, love."

Blaise blushed prettily. She nodded to Emma and took Harry's arm as they headed for the now-available fire pit. Blaise took a small pouch out of the cuff of her robes. It turned out to be Floo powder, and she offered Harry a pinch. He took it, but let her go first."

"Malfoy Manor!" Blaise vanished into the flames.

"Malfoy Manor!"

As he stumbled through the Floo, Harry tripped over the edge of the fireplace and crashed to the floor like a klutz. Oh great, now Blaise was going to think he was completely disaster-prone.

He climbed sheepishly to his feet and stood staring at the floor. "Oops," he said, wishing he had his father's invisibility cloak handy.

Blaise did not giggle. She didn't even smile. She leaned in and peered up into his face inquisitively. "Are you hurt?" she asked with concern in her voice.

"No!" Harry said too loudly. "I, uh, was dizzy from the Floo."

Blaise nodded. "It wouldn't do to twist an ankle. I can't get even the basic Healing Charm down yet."

"Well it is a third year spell," Harry pointed out. "Late third year, at that. You might be one of the best in our form, but I don't think many of us stack up well against the upper students."

"They're not all as good as that," she said dismissively, waving her hand. "I might not be able to cast the Charm, but I bet I can score higher on the written."

"Yes, you probably could."

"And I'm getting better at Defence," she continued. "I really like Professor Lupin. He's the best we've had. He really knows his stuff."

"Even better than the time Professor Snape took over?" Harry asked slyly. It was a running joke in Slytherin that Professor Snape was the best at everything.

Blaise giggled. "No, not better than Professor Snape. I'd love to see him teach Transfiguration someday. I'd love to watch those vulgar Gryffindors have to perform to his standards with _that_ subject."

"'Transfiguration is very dangerous magic. All evil Slytherins who do not like being called evil Slytherins will lose lots of house points while I merely do not speak of the lapses of my own House,'" Harry piped in a falsetto voice.

"Harry!" Blaise mock-protested. "How _can_ you imitate the staff so poorly? That'll be five points from Slytherin for bad acting."

Harry made an awful face at her. She giggled some more and made a face back at him. He grinned, and she smiled back at him. He made a face again.

"Harry!" she laughed, reaching up to tousle his hair. That made him suddenly feel very warm.

There was a long, quiet moment. Harry's throat was unexpectedly very dry. He wanted to speak, to break this silence.

"It's late," she half-whispered. "I still need to scrub off."

"It's this way."

"Going to protect me from the nasty ghosts and goblins?" she teased him.

"Of course."

Blaise studied his face for a moment. "I believe you would."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He turned and led the way to the bathroom where Blaise took a few minutes to remove all evidence of the make-up she'd worn that night. When she was fresh-faced again, she emerged with a smile. His return grin felt goofy.

"I had a good time tonight, Harry." Her voice was sincere. "Thank you for asking me to go with you."

"It was a lot of fun." Harry couldn't ever remember such a stupendous time. Well, there was that other show he'd gone to, but this event put that show to shame.

She leaned in and pressed her lips briefly to his. Harry closed his eyes just like Blaise had. Her lips were very soft. He cupped her chin very gently with one finger - one of Elan's suggestions - and almost jumped out of his skin when she squeaked.

Almost as soon as it started, it ended. Blaise pulled away and took a moment to compose herself. She didn't look at Harry. "I should go."

Harry could only nod mutely. She walked in front of him back towards the fireplace. "Villa Zabini!" she said into the roaring green flames summoned with a pinch of Floo powder.

She turned to face him again. "See you at New Year's."

"New Year's."

And she was gone.

to be continued...


	14. Kissing and Telling

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Fourteen - Kissing and Telling**

A few days later, Harry followed Draco as he returned to his room after dinner. He walked right on in and shut the door behind him. Without preamble, he said, "So I kissed Blaise on Christmas Eve."

"Finally!" Draco cheered. "What's it like? Did it hurt?"

"She was soft."

"What?"

Harry didn't know how else to say. "Her lips. They were very soft."

"That's all?"

"Let's see. She closed her eyes. I guess I did too. It was like elec- like, like-" A worthy magical metaphor escaped him. "My head felt all tingly."

"Did you feel like you were floating?"

"A bit."

"So what else?"

"I can't tell how long it lasted. We stopped. I couldn't think of anything to say. Then we came back to the party."

"So that's why you hardly said a word the whole night."

Harry let that one slide. "And I kissed her again after the show."

"I'm amazingly impressed, old bean. Are you trying to make up for lost time?"

"What's that supposed mean?" Harry demanded.

"By her own admission, she's crushed on you since you first met. And you've been too oblivious to notice." Draco seemed rather smug in pointing out Harry's cluelessness.

"Says Casanova," Harry grumbled.

"What?"

"Never mind." Harry mentally kicked himself for using a Muggle reference.

"Are you going to do it again?"

Harry didn't know the answer to that. "Probably. I think I want to."

They both let the subject drop and did not speak of it again, but Harry had only a few days to decide what he would do. It was time for the New Year's Eve party.

Harry felt quite comfortable in his white robes this year. This particular set had been tailored to him by Madam Malkin, and she was the best. His mirror thought he looked smashing. Harry was inclined to agree.

In the sitting room, he carefully covered himself up with the Floo cloak and stepped through to Moonlight Meadows.

On the other side, the first person he saw was Jenna. She looked very nice tonight, and Harry noticed she'd put on some make-up.

"Hey!" Jenna said with delight as she caught sight of him. "You're here!"

"Why so I am."

"Where's your sidekick?"

"He's coming along. He wanted to make sure it was safe before he risked musing his precious hair."

Jenna giggled. "That prat. Just for that I'm not dancing with him tonight."

"You mean you were planning to?"

"You're in good form tonight."

Harry grinned at her. "Is Blaise here yet?"

Jenna's smile dropped a bit. "No, Jamie arrived by herself a few minutes ago. She says Blaise is grounded. Apparently she didn't do as good a job scrubbing off her make-up as she thought. Her mum was waiting for her and immediately put a light in her face. The shouting apparently woke the whole house."

Harry didn't know how to feel about that. Was he disappointed or relieved?

At that moment, Draco arrived. "Hey Jenna," he said in greeting. "See to my cloak, would you?"

"I see it, and it's absolutely filthy, Malfoy." She giggled. "Filthy Malfoy."

"Hey!"

Fortunately Jenna had the good sense to stop talking just then, for Mr. Malfoy arrived and turned a stern gaze over his surroundings. He looked at everything, and he exhaled slightly through his nose before nodding and smiling as he greeted his host's daughter.

"Miss Moon, you are so radiant, you could hang in the sky on darkest night and have the people swear they heard werewolves."

Jenna beamed up at him. "Orta recens quam pura nites."

Mr. Malfoy obviously knew what that meant, because his smile became a little more natural. "Charming," he said.

Mrs. Malfoy and Elan were only just arriving, and she spent a few moments looking Jenna over. Evidently she passed muster, because Mrs. Malfoy smiled and said, "Take the young lady's arm, Elan, and let us meet the master of the house."

The four of them swept off, leaving Harry and Draco to their own devices.

"Punch?" Draco suggested.

"Sure."

Not many people were there quite yet. Most were gathered in the ballroom, where Jenna's father was holding court, as it were. The room was not small, though not overly-large either.

Jenna was a spitting image of her mother, Harry realized. Both had the same shade of blonde hair and the same small nose. The crooked smile was identical.

The smile on Jenna's dad's face could have rivalled Gilderoy Lockhart's for toothiness and gleam. His hands moved as he talked, but he didn't seem to be overly excitable. He chatted for quite awhile with Mr. Malfoy as the house filled with guests.

Harry missed most of his friends that night. Crabbe had gone to visit distant relatives for the holiday; Goyle was down with a cold. Pansy's parents had snubbed the Moons, while Millie had been fighting with her little brother Arcen and was grounded like Blaise. Tim was missing in action. In fact, there weren't a lot of kids present at all. With only Draco and Jenna around, Harry actually felt a bit lonely.

"Harry! Hi, Harry!"

He turned to see a perky Slytherin second year standing near him.

"Laine? What are you doing here?"

Laine giggled. "It's a party, isn't it? I'm partying!"

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"My father met Mister Moon last year on business. He was kind enough to invite us to this little gathering tonight."

"You look very nice," Harry said. And she did. Harry didn't know much about dresses, but Laine's white number looked very expensive. She'd done her hair up with a lot of jewelled pins.

"And you look very handsome."

"What, this old thing?" he joked. "Madam Malkin does excellent work."

"Yes, she does."

"Any of the other second years here?"

"No, just me from what I can tell. Not everyone is important enough to get an invitation to The Party."

"Is this second year bothering you, Harry?" Jenna asked, coming up behind Laine and standing with her hands on her hips.

"Constantly," he replied with a grin and a wink at Laine.

"Well I want to dance, and I need a partner. Seeing as Draco is a prat, it falls to you. Laine, will you excuse us?"

Laine's smile now seemed a bit fixed. "Of course. But only if I get to dance with Draco."

"Done."

They danced for hours. It was nearly midnight when Jenna and Harry ducked away from the crowd. Jenna collapsed on a couch in the sitting room with a groan.

"I can't move. Bring me a blanket and pillow."

"I can't move either," Harry said, taking the other end of the small sofa.

"Having fun?"

"Yeah. Your folks put on a good party, even if we are the only kids."

"Thanks."

They sat together without speaking for a moment. The only sound was the crackling of the fire in the grate sending dancing shadows over the walls.

"Jenna, can I talk to you about something?"

"Sure. It's not anything serious, is it?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." She sat up a bit straighter. "What's going on, then?"

"Blaise kissed me at Christmas."

"Well finally."

"That's not helping."

"Oh, you wanted help. I see." Jenna leaned in towards him. Harry caught a flash of something in her eyes that made him very nervous. "She finally went and did it. I've been waiting for that. Now I can do this."

And she kissed him.

Too shocked to even move, Harry sat there while Jenna pressed her lips to his. His heart rate was sky-rocketing. Lights danced behind his closed eyes.

When she broke the kiss, she hid her face from him. "Don't ever let her know I did that," Jenna begged of him. "She'd kill me."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say. And before he could even open his mouth to try, she ran out of the room.

Harry was very confused.

He sat there, staring after the girl he'd had coffee with every Thursday morning for a whole school year. She'd been someone to crack jokes with, to laugh with. She'd never been a girl to him, not like that. He'd contemplated kissing her once and had been unable to do it. Now it had happened, and Harry didn't know how.

Maybe he should go talk to her. Maybe he should do like she asked and never mention it again. Maybe he was in way over his head.

Harry stood up and made his way back to the party. Draco was just leading Laine off the dance floor, and her face lit up when she saw Harry. They congregated near the punch bowl.

"It's almost time," Draco said, hoisting a cup.

"Another year gone," Laine declared.

"May the next be a lucky one," Harry added.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Laine pulled Harry to the side after the the band started playing again. "Now it's my turn to give you a late present," she joked. She took a small box out of her pocket and held it out to him. "Happy Christmas."

Harry had sent her a box of Chocolate Frogs as a present. Her return gift was a prism, of the clearest crystal he'd ever seen.

"This is great. Thank you."

"You're most welcome, Harry." She glanced up and giggled. Harry also looked up.

"Oh no," he said.

And then Laine had her lips mashed against his. In his head, Harry absently wondered what genius had decided mistletoe meant kissing.

It lasted only a few seconds. Laine smiled at him and said, "See you at school."

And she was gone.

Harry was now thoroughly confused. He got himself a cup of punch and went to find Draco.

His best mate was sitting in the corner, gobbling sweets from the buffet. Harry sat down with a thud.

"Draco, I don't know what to do."

"Okay."

"It's about girls."

"Okay. You might be asking the wrong Malfoy."

"Jenna kissed me tonight."

"_Jenna!_"

"I didn't see it coming either," Harry admitted.

"Well that's because you're clueless."

Harry ignored that and took a deep breath. "She's not the only one."

Draco's joviality vanished. "What?"

"Laine. Slater."

"Slater?"

"Is there an echo in here?" Harry asked. "Yes, Slater. You know? The second year girl who got Ginny Weasley off our backs? The one who got me to bring her a present from Hogsmeade? The one you've been dancing with tonight?"

Rather than being sympathetic, Draco became cross. "You tosser! How come you get all the girls?"

"Why should you care? I thought girls had germs or something. Isn't that what you said?"

"That was before Elan told me what fun it is to snog. None of the girls in our year seem to be interested in me, and you've got girls in other forms chasing you as well! It's not bloody fair!" Draco sounded genuinely upset. His opinion on girls had obviously shifted drastically.

"This is all wrong," Harry declared. "You're supposed to help me figure things out, not get mad at me for what I didn't do."

"I will help. But first I'm going to swear at you for a little while."

It was time to go back to school.

Harry overslept, was late to breakfast, and still hadn't packed up all his things. He rushed around his room, throwing clothes in the general direction of his trunk with one hand and stuffing toast into his mouth with the other. Where were his slippers?

Finally everything was packed. He was still hungry, but a quick word to a house elf yielded a brown paper bag that smelled of sausages and scrambled eggs. He would eat it on the train.

Elan helped Draco to lift his trunk down the stairs. Mr. Malfoy watched silently and harrumphed quietly to himself. He grasped the handle of Harry's trunk and let out a startled yelp.

"Great Merlin! Do you have bricks in here, Harry?"

"Elan gave me weights for Christmas, sir."

"He did, didn't he?" Mr. Malfoy put the trunk down. With a twist, he pulled his wand from the body of his serpent cane. He pointed it at the trunk, and it rose up and headed down the stairs towards the fireplace in the sitting room.

The Floo trip to Puddlemucker's wasn't even that bad. Harry took a long drink of water from the cup handed to him by the proprietor and wasn't even dizzy. He was definitely getting used to Floo travel.

He pushed a Galleon across the counter and waved off his change. "Friend coming through," he said.

"Very good, young sir."

Draco followed about a minute or so later. When he reached for his money, Harry shook his head. Together they walked out into Muggle London.

It was noisy and crowded, but the boys were easily able to push their trunks down the sidewalk and into King's Cross station. Fighting through the mob, they eventually made it to platforms nine and ten.

Draco cocked an eyebrow at Harry. "Ladies first," he joked, lavishly gesturing at the barrier.

"What about little boys?" Harry shot back. "You know, ones who haven't kissed a girl?"

Draco winced. "That's hard, mate. Why must you treat me so?"

"Because you're a git."

Before Draco could reply, Harry headed for the barrier at a run. When he was about to crash and hurt himself, he closed his eyes and thought about the English countryside. Thus distracted, he passed right on through to Platform 9 and ¾.

The great red engine always surprised him by how big it was. Somehow it shrank in his memory. He waited patiently for Draco to follow him and together they loaded their trunks on board.

There had been quite a few wizards on the platform, but the two boys were the first of their gang to arrive. Without Elan to expand the compartment, Harry knew they would be cramped. Seven growing Slytherins just didn't fit, never mind nine. Perhaps they should take out a wall? They inquired of Jamie about expanding the compartment, but she flatly refused them and flounced off.

Harry shovelled his delayed breakfast into his mouth as fast as he could. If there were any left when Crabbe or Goyle got there, it would disappear faster than you could say Snitch. He crumpled the empty bag and shoved it in his pocket.

They played games while they waited. Draco managed to thrash Harry at gobstones for ten games in a row. Harry shoved the board at him in disgust and pulled out a deck of cards. He held one card by the corner and threw it at Draco. His mate cussed at him as the small explosion left a soot mark on his robes.

"So when are we going to _get_ Weasley?" Draco wanted to know. "I don't want his own mother to recognize him." Then he laughed. "Actually, she's got so many kids maybe it wouldn't take much."

"Two of those kids are Slytherins," Harry pointed out. "Percy never used to smile unless he was enforcing the rules, and Ginny could have been placed by the Sorting Hat."

"Weaslette is still a Gryffindor. Slater said so herself. She just _lives_ in Slytherin."

Before Harry could answer, Tim came into the compartment. "Happy Sunday," he said dourly.

"What's eating you?" Harry asked.

"No breakfast. Dad was up all night, and I couldn't wake him this morning. I left him a note telling him I'd gone back to school, because otherwise I think he might not realize where I've gone."

Harry felt a pang of guilt for not having any breakfast left to share and also a stab of sympathy. "That's rough." He couldn't imagine a father who neglected his son. Then again, Harry would have been grateful for any sort of dad.

Crabbe was the next to arrive, and he started belly-aching about not having _enough_ breakfast, which prompted Tim to shove him back into the corridor and slam the door. He cast a Locking Charm and flounced back into his seat. He picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle it.

"Snap?"

"No," Draco answered. "Deal out nine. This is a new game Elan learned at Durmstrang."

The door to their compartment rattled loudly. Out in the hall, Crabbe started to describe all sorts of unpleasant things he was going to do to Tim unless the door were opened immediately. Tim ignored the noise and dealt out the cards.

Several hands later, they heard "_Alohamora!_" cast and the door clicked open. Goyle stood there with wand in his hand. He looked a little hacked off.

"Why did you lock Crabbe out?" he asked of Tim.

"Because he's a wanker," Tim snarled. He was losing at Exploding Rummy.

"There's no need to get upset."

"Piss off."

"Why don't you?" Goyle folded his arms across his chest.

"Are you feeling brave, fathead?"

"Are you?"

Tim's sneer was horrible, but Goyle wasn't fazed at all. He unfolded his arms and cracked his knuckles. Harry didn't know if they'd use fists or wands, but he was certain that his friends were about to start fighting. He spoke up.

"Hey! None of that."

Tim backed down first. He picked up his cards, of which he had many, and discarded one. Goyle sat down next to Harry, and Crabbe sat next to Draco.

"Hey, rummy!" Goyle noticed.

"Yes, it is," Draco said.

"No, I mean rummy!" He picked up a bunch of cards from the discard pile and laid down three of them. One was the card Tim had thrown away.

"That's it, I quit!" Tim tossed his cards away, and they exploded with a small flash of fire. He left the compartment.

"Hope he doesn't keep that attitude around the dementors," Goyle said dismissively. He discarded a seven.

They didn't see Tim for the rest of the train ride. The girls stopped by to say hello, but they had claimed a space two doors down. They also refused to let the boys in. They visited for a little while, but there really wasn't room for them all.

It was Draco's idea to follow them when they left. Peering out the door, they watched the girls disappear into their compartment. When it clicked shut, they nearly fell over themselves to get down the hall and crouch down outside.

"I've got the most amazing news, girls," Blaise announced. "I finally did it. I kissed him."

There was much ooh-ing and aah-ing. Blaise was about to go into details when Jenna interrupted. The door slid open, and there she stood, glaring down at the four boys who were crouched by the keyhole.

"May I help you?"

"I lost my monocle in my compartment," Draco said from the floor.

"So why are you looking around our door?"

"Because the light is better here."

Jenna told Draco to do something that was probably impossible without the help of magic. She drew her wand. "Now get, before I hex the lot of you!"

Harry caught Blaise's eye before they were shuffled off, and he swore he saw her smile at him.

That evening after dinner, Harry heard Weasley mention visiting the Owlery as he left the Great Hall. He immediately pulled Draco into a side corridor. Crabbe came along too with a curious expression on his face.

"Weasley's going up to the Owlery. Now's our time to get that stupid rat of his."

By taking secret passages, they made it up to the top of the castle in only a few minutes. They were all puffing heavily, but they'd beaten Weasley there. Harry called Regal down, and his magnificent eagle owl landed obediently on his arm.

Harry saw with pleasure that the soot mark had mostly faded. The feathers must have fallen out - or been plucked out. Regal was friendly with Draco's owl, Arlette.

"Regal, do you remember the boy who put that mark on you?"

The owl's big eyes stared wisely at him.

"He's coming up here soon. Do you know what to do?"

Regal hooted softly. He flew up into the rafters and perched next to Arlette, who nipped at his ear tufts lightly.

"Let's hide."

The three boys went out and crept under the wooden stairs that led up to the Owlery. Within minutes, Weasley came bounding along, singing not-so-softly to himself. Harry recognized it as one of the Three Weird Sisters' current hits that was always being played on the wireless.

Weasley climbed up the steps, not seeing the three Slytherins hiding beneath. He took one step into the Owlery and let out a shriek of pure terror. A vast flurry of wings was heard.

"Stupid, ruddy owls!" Weasley shouted. "Hey! Scabbers! Give him back! Let him go right now! Leave him alone!"

Harry smiled. "Mission accomplished!" he whispered to Draco and Crabbe.

With a wave of his wand, he Transfigured one of the wooden steps into a box. Regal swooped in, deposited the rat, and flew away again.

Weasley came thundering down the stairs, tripped over the missing step, and fell flat on his face. Harry very nearly gave away their presence by laughing loudly before he followed Crabbe and Draco into the secret passage.

Back in the dungeons, the rat was unceremoniously extricated from the wooden box and flung into the iron cage, which Harry had asked Elan Malfoy to produce for him over the holiday. The wood shifted back into a step and vanished from their sight, returning to the Owlery stairs. The rat squeaked most pathetically, and Harry eventually shoved it under the bed to ignore it.

"A successful plan," Draco declared.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Any ideas on what to do with it?"

"I say we kill it," Goyle suggested. "Give one of the cats a snack."

"I hate that stupid rat," Crabbe said, looking at his hand where the scar from the rat's teeth still lingered. "I want to throw it out the window."

"Duly noted," Draco said dryly. "Tim?"

"Onyx would have a lot of fun with that thing, I think. So would all the cats. But owls like rats too. Maybe we could set up a bit of sport."

"Capital!" Draco enthused. "We can make bets!"

"Five Galleons on Regal," Harry said immediately.

"Put me in for five on Onyx."

The other boys placed their bets, and then they fell to determining exactly how their little competition would be organized.

At lunch the next day, Goyle and Crabbe gleefully reported that Weasley had looked like an unmade bed for Care of Magical Creatures. He told the story to anyone who would listen about how a rogue owl had swooped down and made off with "poor Scabbers" for dinner.

When everyone had finished laughing at Crabbe's wonderful impersonation of Weasley, Harry was treated to a recap of a lecture that actually sounded very interesting. Crabbe, Goyle, and Millie were all raving about salamanders. Tim was in the class too, but he was busy scratching out his Potions homework with a hurried hand.

"It was a huge bonfire! And they were _in_ the flames!" Goyle was saying. "They were crawling around on the logs, happy as you like."

"Did they show you any fire tricks?" Harry asked, joining in as the rest of his friends started chuckling and giggling. Goyle's fondness for fire was quite known in Slytherin. When they'd learned the symbol for fire in Ancient Runes, he'd talked of nothing else for days.

"Be quiet, Harry. And they were _eating_ the flames!"

"But they like pepper too," Crabbe interrupted. "One crawled onto my hand and swiped up a whole pile of it with its tongue. It felt weird!"

"Their feet felt like little sparks falling on my skin, but it didn't hurt." Millie was attempting to draw a picture of one on the back of her History essay. "And when it licked me, I felt tingles go up my arm."

"What colour were they?"

"Blue," the three said together.

"All in all, he's not a bad teacher," Millie admitted. "But he does seem to have a fondness for creatures of higher class than Ex-Ex. The salamanders were a nice treat."

"Wish we had something exciting like that happen in Divination," Jenna grumbled. "All we did was start Palmistry. She told Weasley that his life line was very short and that he was going to have a very messy demise. Then Patil leaned over and suggested he wash his hands."

The table burst out laughing. "How typical," Draco drawled insultingly. "A Weasley with dirty hands."

The second year girls were sitting nearby, and suddenly the laughter petered out. Everyone looked at Ginny, who was sitting there with her jaw clenched. For a second, Draco seemed surprised by the silence, but then he directed a disrespectful stare across the table at their adopted Weasley.

"There's nothing wrong with honest work, Malfoy," she said. She had her head held proudly, looking him in the eye.

"I didn't say there was. But some honest work doesn't require getting your hands dirty." Draco held up both of his hands and turned them several times in the air. Then he snapped his fingers once, staring straight at her.

Everyone laughed again. That was how one summoned a house elf. Being of a family old enough and important enough to have house elves meant one didn't do menial labour.

Ginny was clearly enraged, to judge from the flash in her eyes and the flush creeping up her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but was elbowed subtly by Laine Slater.

"Knock it off, Malfoy," Laine said. She sounded disgusted with him. "Don't pin all her family on her. There's black sheep from good families, and there's white sheep from bad."

"So there are," Draco said, and he took a bite of his sandwich.

After a few moments of heavy silence, Goyle said, "So the salamanders-" and everything was alright again.

to be continued...


	15. Anti Dementor Lessons

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Fifteen - Anti-Dementor Lessons**

"Ah, Harry! Do come in."

It was the first Thursday back from holiday, and Harry had reported to the History of Magic classroom promptly at eight. Professor Lupin was waiting for him with a large packing case that he'd placed next to Professor Binns' desk.

"What's that?" said Harry.

"Another Boggart," said Lupin, stripping off his cloak. "I nearly didn't find one in time. I've been looking all week. Good fortune I found this one lurking inside Mister Filch's filing cabinet. It's the nearest we'll get to a real dementor. We'll be able to practice on him, and I can store him in my office between lessons."

"Wicked," said Harry. He was very impressed with Lupin's plan. He had found a great substitute for a real dementor.

"So-" Professor Lupin had taken out his own wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. "The spell I am going to try to teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry - well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level."

"The Patronus Charm."

"Yes. When it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus," said Lupin. "But what is a Patronus?"

"It's a guardian force; a protector. It acts as a shield between you and the dementor."

"Yes. Five points to Slytherin. The Patronus is a projection of the very things that the dementor feeds upon: hope, happiness, the desire to survive; but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the dementors can't hurt it."

That all sounded spiffing to Harry.

"But I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it."

"I won't know until I try. How do you conjure it?"

"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory."

Well that put Harry in a right fix. A happy memory. Harry thought about that. He frowned when nothing came immediately to mind. Well, he would just have to think hard. Fortunately he only had a couple of recent years to sift through; nothing in the first eleven years of his life counted.

Blaise? She was more confusing to him at the moment than anything else. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to try facing even a fake dementor with something so shaky.

His friends? He was happy to have friends, but he suspected that Professor Lupin had something else in mind.

Harry was silent for a long time, sunk deep into thought. Finally Professor Lupin said, "All right, Harry?"

"Yeah." Harry was getting depressed just by this effort. "I just don't know what memories I have that qualify."

Lupin regarded him thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to bring you down."

"Can we just move on?"

"We can come back to this, yes. The incantation is-"

"Expecto patronum."

"Yes." Lupin looked a little surprised. "Have you been studying?"

"Of course."

"Very good. This is the wand movement."

He demonstrated. Harry copied it. Then he did it again and kept repeating it. Repetition was necessary for perfection. It was one of the maxims of wand-waving.

"Is my grip okay?"

"It's fine. Make the left sweep a little shorter."

Harry corrected it.

"Excellent. How's that happy memory coming along?"

"Don't ask," Harry muttered. He had a bunch of choices, none of which felt right to him. Finally Harry settled on the day he'd learned he was a wizard. Knowing he wasn't destined to go to Stonewall High and would be learning all about magic instead was about as happy a time as he could think of.

"Okay, I've got one."

"Give it a try," Lupin suggested.

"Expecto patronum!"

Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas.

"Wow, look at that!"

"Very good," said Lupin, smiling. "Right, then. Ready to try it on a dementor?"

"Yes," Harry said, gripping his wand very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom.

Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled.

A dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The dementor glided out of the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke out on Harry's forehead.

"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto-"

White fog obscured his senses. Big, blurred shapes were moving around him. He listened for his mother's voice, but got a shock when there came a new voice, a man's voice, shouting and panicking.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

There was the sound of someone stumbling from a room - a door bursting open - a cackle of high-pitched laughter - the thump of a body hitting the floor -

Now he heard his mother's voice, louder than ever, echoing inside his head. "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please! I'll do anything!"

"Stand aside! Stand aside, girl!"

"Harry! Harry! Wake up!"

Harry jerked back to life. Lupin was tapping him hard on the face. Harry was lying flat on his back on the floor. The classroom lamps were alight again. He didn't have to ask what had happened.

"Sorry," he muttered, sitting up and feeling cold sweat trickling down behind his glasses.

"Are you all right?" said Lupin.

"Yes." Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leaned against it. "No. I heard my dad," he mumbled. "That's the first time I've ever heard him. He tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it."

Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn't see. What he missed was the funny expression on Lupin's face.

"You heard James?" said Lupin in a strange voice.

"Yeah." Face dry, Harry looked up.

"Harry, perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced. I probably shouldn't have suggested putting you through this."

"No!" said Harry. "I'm going to do this! I'm not thinking happy enough thoughts, that's what it is. Hang on."

"Are you truly so unhappy, Harry?" Lupin asked in kindly tones.

"I don't _feel_ unhappy." And he didn't. Every day was an improvement; every day was a chance to live.

Lupin paused thoughtfully before he said, "I was friends with your father at school."

Harry turned to stare at the man. "You knew my dad?"

"James was the best friend a fellow could have," Lupin said simply. "When he and Lily were murdered by Voldemort, I nearly lost my mind. It was a long road back to anything approaching a normal time for me."

Harry didn't know what to say to that.

"Oh, how I wish you could have known them, Harry. You're the spitting image of James, as I'm sure you've been told."

"With my mother's eyes," Harry muttered.

"Yes." Lupin nodded. "You've done very well in my class this year, and from all accounts are excelling in your other subjects as well. I don't think it inappropriate to say I believe they would be proud of you."

That made Harry feel good. In fact it made him feel more than good. Suddenly - he remembered!

He was eleven years old, and it was Christmas holiday. Harry was standing in an empty classroom looking into the Mirror of Erised. In the enchanted glass, he could see his family; aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and great-grandparents; but most of all, his mum and dad. His mum's eyes were filled with tears that she could not be there for him. His dad's face expressed the pride he surely felt at seeing his son so well on his way to becoming a man. Harry felt their love around him like a warm blanket, and he had never wanted anything more.

The real Harry tapped into this memory, and he had to blink away more tears. "I've got something," he said in a thick voice. "But it's not what you would call real."

Lupin didn't bat an eye. "Is it strong?"

"Yes."

"Then let's try it, shall we?"

"Let's."

Harry faced the packing case once more.

"Ready?" said Lupin. "Concentrating hard? All right. Go!"

He pulled off the lid of the case again, and the dementor rose out of it. The room went icily cold and dark once more. The dementor glided forward, drawing its breath; one rotting hand was extending toward Harry.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed. "EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The screaming had started again, but it was quieter now. It sounded very far away. The room wasn't sliding away into a white fog. Harry could still see the dementor, which had paused. Then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry's wand. It hovered between him and the dementor, and though Harry's legs felt like water, he was still on his feet.

"Riddikulus!" roared Lupin, springing forward.

There was a loud crack, and Harry's cloudy Patronus vanished along with the dementor; he sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if he'd just run a mile, and felt his legs shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Lupin forcing the Boggart back into the packing case with his wand; it had turned into a silvery orb again.

"Excellent!" Lupin said, striding over to where Harry sat. "Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!"

"I want another go."

"Not now," said Lupin firmly. "You've had enough for one night. Here."

He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate.

"Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?"

"Okay," said Harry. He took a bite of the chocolate and watched Lupin extinguishing the lamps that had rekindled with the disappearance of the dementor. A thought had just occurred to him.

"Professor Lupin?" he said. "If you knew my dad, you must've known Sirius Black as well."

Lupin turned very quickly.

"What gives you that idea?" he said sharply.

"Nothing. I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too."

Lupin's face relaxed.

"Yes, I knew him," he said shortly. "Or I thought I did. You'd better be off, Harry, it's getting late."

Harry left the classroom, taking a rest next to a suit of armour, sitting on its plinth to finish his chocolate. He wished he hadn't mentioned Black; Professor Lupin was obviously not keen on the subject. Then Harry's thoughts wandered back to his mother and father.

He felt drained and strangely empty, even though he was so full of chocolate. Terrible though it was to hear his parents' last moments replayed inside his head, these were the only times Harry had heard their voices since he was a very small child. But he'd never be able to produce a proper Patronus if he half wanted to hear his parents again.

"They're dead," he told himself sternly. "They're dead, and listening to echoes of them won't bring them back." It was no different from wasting away in front of the Mirror of Erised. There was no sense in dwelling on dreams, and there was no sense in longing for what could never be.

He stood up, crammed the last bit of chocolate into his mouth, and headed back to the Slytherin dungeons.

In the middle of January, a blizzard struck the castle in the night, covering every surface with snow near as high as a man. The route to the Astronomy tower was now a snow tunnel. A great swath marked the road to the front gates.

Lots sledding runs were well-trampled, for the ride down was smashing good fun. It took one so far that on the long walk back up the hill, Harry wished it were possible to Apparate on Hogwarts grounds. He also wished he knew how to Apparate.

Filch was seen often with a shovel in his hands, or a mop, keeping the entrance hall free of snow and slush. He kept an angry glare directed at everyone, and even pinned a first year Hufflepuff to the wall with the mop when the boy didn't stomp the snow from his feet before walking inside.

They hadn't even cleaned the snow off the Quidditch pitch. Harry's team mates mumbled a bit about that, but Flint put a stop to their grousing. "You don't cancel Quidditch because of a little snow."

"A little? It's as tall as Bole's sister!" Derrick compared.

"I told you to shut up about my sister," Bole snapped.

"I was only saying-"

"Yeah, yeah, that she went snogging with Higgs in a snow tunnel," Bole said, not sounding happy at all. "I'd hurt him, but she told me if I laid a finger on him, she'd never speak to me again."

"I don't see what you've got against him, mate," Derrick wondered. "We've lived with him for near on six years."

"That's exactly why I don't want him near Amanda! I've heard him talk!"

"That's all it is, you knothead!"

"Derrick's right, Bole." Bletchley chimed in. "Besides, Amanda's too smart to let him do more than kiss her. She's told the other girls about that at least a dozen times."

"How do you know?"

"Heather told me."

"If you sissies are done talking about girls," Flint said scathingly, "I would like to say a few words of inspiration. If it wouldn't inconvenience you, we've got a Quidditch match to win."

"Say on, oh my captain!" Montague hailed deeply.

"Men, the snow couldn't have come at a better time. The sunlight will be bouncing off of it, so Ravenclaw won't be able to see."

"The same with us, oh glorious leader," Bole sneered.

"Not at all. I've obtained a counterspell that will neutralize the glare. Observe." Flint drew his wand and pointed it at Bole's face.

"Hey!"

"_Mico absentis!_"

Two thick black lines of what looked to Harry like greasepaint appeared on Bole's cheeks. It made him look quite fierce. Actually, he looked somewhat like a Muggle athlete, but Harry refrained from telling him so. The Beater was apt to get mad and thrash Harry.

"This charm is guaranteed to work and is not considered cheating according to the official rules of England." Flint sounded quite proud of the fact that he'd read a book.

"Well that's a relief," Bletchley observed dryly. "We wouldn't want to cheat."

Pucey, Montague, and Harry all started snickering. Even Flint had a bemused look on his face, but it vanished quickly. He pointed his wand at Bletchley next. One by one, Flint applied the charm and each boy got a pair of stripes on his face.

"We'll be able to see better, and the depth of snow in the stadium will completely change the dynamic of the game." The drifts on the pitch were nearly up to the lower part of the stands. "But it's still soft, just like you lot of sissies, and you can dive through it if need be."

Which sounded quite fun, actually.

"Now let's get out there and make 'em ashamed to write home about it!"

And they did.

The final score was three hundred-twenty to one hundred-ten. Harry soared across the surface of the snow, dipping his tail twigs in slightly and sending up a shower of snow like a wave, to catch the Snitch with a flourish. Chang had a disappointed look on her face at the other end of the pitch. She'd gotten distracted by snow glare and had dove just before Harry had spotted the Snitch for real.

On the last Wednesday in January, Harry received an owl at breakfast from Professor Lupin informing him that tomorrow's anti-dementor lesson was cancelled. No reason was given, merely instructions to report as scheduled on the third of February.

Harry was just as glad for the night off. With all the Quidditch practices, he'd let some of his assignments go longer than he'd intended. Nothing had gone past due, and Harry wanted to keep it that way. He settled himself in the common room at a table next to the fireplace and began scribbling essays.

Blaise must have decided to do homework as well, because she opened her books at the same table. She smiled at Harry, but didn't interrupt his writing, for which he was grateful. She bowed her head over her own parchment and began scratching away with her quill.

Harry had not been alone with Blaise since they'd gotten back from the Wand Smasher show. They'd exchanged small glances, but hadn't talked about the two kisses they'd shared. He was still trying to decide how he felt about those. He'd also been trying, very unsuccessfully, to comprehend what had transpired with Jenna and Laine.

So Harry kept his mouth shut. And Blaise seemed content to sit in silence. They didn't speak, except to borrow certain class notes. They were joined at various times by the others, but only Blaise seemed to have a lot of homework that night. Eventually they were alone together, in a common room that had slowly vacated as students sought their beds.

Harry put down his quill and stretched his cramped hand. Flexing his fingers to restore the circulation, he grinned wryly at Blaise. "I suppose Professor Snape would take it as a compliment that I sprained my hand while doing his essay."

"He'd hold you up as an example to the rest of the class," Blaise agreed with a nod. "You've really got a knack for Potions. I think you might even be better than me now."

"Don't say that. Who will I copy from?" he teased.

"Tim."

"Of course."

The conversation ground to a halt. Long minutes passed in silence as they did no more than look at each other.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?

"Would you like to kiss me again?"

Harry felt very warm suddenly, and he knew he must be flushing madly. "It's all very confusing, isn't it?"

"It can be. Not for me, but I'm quite intelligent, you know."

"I know."

Silence.

Blaise tipped her head at him, asking without words what his answer was. He wasn't one hundred percent sure about it, but he decided to try. He leaned towards her, puckering his lips. They connected.

She was still soft. Harry latched onto that thought desperately. His nose was mashed into her cheek. Before he could gather another thought, a startled exclamation of "Oi!" caused them to spring apart.

Crabbe stood at the entrance to the common room. He was staring at them with an indescribable look on his face. He stamped over to their table.

"What's all this, then?"

Blaise was blushing furiously, and she wouldn't look up. She found the fire fascinating suddenly. Harry knew his own face was flaming. He gave a dry croak and shrugged helplessly.

"The common room is not at all private, you know," Crabbe said in a stern tone. "That's why it's the _common_ room."

Being lectured on language from a boy who barely used two syllable words was a bit more than Harry could take. "What are you doing out so late?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Astronomy tower. Full moon tonight."

"Good view?"

"Excellent view, despite the clouds. Heard something weird though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, towards Hogsmeade. It was the most awful noise you ever heard. I think it was the Shrieking Shack."

"So it really is haunted," Harry commented. The Shack was reputed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain but had been silent for years.

"If it's not ghosts, I don't want to know," Crabbe said, shivering as he moved closer to the fire. "Gave me the willies from miles away."

"I've got to go to sleep," Blaise said, still not looking up.

"G'nite, Blaise. Enjoy your last night of peace."

"Crabbe, I'll kill you."

"Goyle will avenge me."

True to his word, Crabbe told the other lads, and Harry was soon the butt of every joke. Somehow the conversation always managed to work around to a punchline involving Harry, Blaise, and snogging.

Blaise grew more and more embarrassed about it and finally drew her wand on Crabbe in the common room one night. That only made things worse, and Harry wondered how he would possibly live it all down.

To make matters even worse, Harry's anti-dementor lessons were not going nearly as well as he had hoped. After several sessions, he was able to produce that same indistinct, silvery shadow every time the Boggart-dementor approached him, but his Patronus was too feeble to drive the dementor away. All it did was hover, like a semitransparent cloud, draining Harry of energy as he fought to keep it there. Harry felt angry with himself, guilty about his secret desire to hear his parents' voices again.

"You're expecting too much of yourself," said Professor Lupin sternly in their fourth week of practice. "For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren't passing out any more, are you?"

"I thought a Patronus would, I don't know, charge the dementors down or something," said Harry dispiritedly. "Make them disappear."

"The true Patronus does do that," said Lupin. "But you've achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. In fact, here - you've earned a drink."

He pulled two bottles out of his briefcase.

"Butterbeer!" said Harry.

"Yes. Let's drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw!"

"Since Slytherin only needs to play Hufflepuff as a formality, I suppose I can do that," Harry said, trying a small joke. "After all, we trounced Gryffindor."

Lupin chuckled. "Ah, Quidditch. I never played, but your father was the same way."

Harry felt funny talking about his dad given his guilty wish, so he didn't respond to that. They drank the butterbeer in silence, until Harry voiced something he'd been wondering for a while.

"Professor? What's under a dementor's hood?"

Professor Lupin lowered his bottle thoughtfully.

"The only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon."

"What's that?"

"They call it the Dementor's Kiss," said Lupin, with a slightly twisted smile. "It's what dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. There must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and- and suck out his soul."

Harry accidentally spat out a bit of butterbeer.

"What? They kill him?"

"Oh no," said Lupin. "Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self any more, no memory, no anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever; lost."

Lupin drank a little more butterbeer, then said, "It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the dementors permission to perform it if they find him."

Harry sat stunned for a moment at the idea of someone having their soul sucked out through their mouth. But then he thought of Black.

"He deserves it," he said suddenly.

"You think so?" said Lupin lightly. "Do you really think anyone deserves that?"

"Yes," said Harry defiantly. "For some things, yes." Harry's only regret about that was that he wouldn't get to kill the traitor himself.

He finished his butterbeer, thanked Lupin for the treat, and left the History of Magic classroom.

Harry half wished that he hadn't asked what was under a dementor's hood, because the answer had been so horrible, and he was so lost in unpleasant thoughts of what it would feel like to have your soul sucked out of you that he walked headlong into a gaggle of Gryffindors halfway up the stairs.

"Potter," Weasley said distastefully. "What are you doing lurking about?"

He looked at Thomas and Finnigan as if this question had some sort of brilliant wit.

"Weasley," Harry replied, making it sound as though he'd stepped in something unpleasant. "Why don't you watch where I'm going?"

"Why don't you walk into the Forbidden Forest?"

"Why don't you go wash your hands?"

Weasley started to turn red. "You're not so clever, Potter."

"I'm more clever than you, and that's enough, isn't it? Looking forward to seeing your team lose to Ravenclaw? We tried to soften them up for you, not that it will help."

"Counting yourself with those gorillas you call Beaters?" Bole and Derrick had been in top form, causing numerous injuries to Ravenclaw's team.

"And the Chasers," Harry reminded him. "Don't forget about Slytherin's top notch Chasers, you boil-brained rats' bane." Harry couldn't bear to pass up a chance to use his latest alliteration.

"Rats? What do you know about rats?" Weasley demanded. "Wait, it was _your_ owl that kidnapped Scabbers! I knew I recognized it!"

"What are you on about?"

"Don't play stupid, Potter! First night back, your owl attacked me and plucked Scabbers right out of my pocket! Then he flew away, and I couldn't catch it!"

"That's a tragic story. I think I might cry."

"I'll make you cry," Weasley threatened, clenching a fist.

Harry wasn't scared at all. Ever since Elan had given him a set of weights, he'd lifted every night before going to bed. It had turned into a ritual of sorts, for Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle all joined in. Tim had held himself aloof, but the four lads had taken to their nightly workout with a quickness. If Weasley wanted to brawl, Harry intended to thump him.

Before Harry could respond, a new voice barked out sharply, "Potter! What's going on here?"

Harry turned to see Professor Vector at the top of the stairs, leaning casually against the wall. She had her arms folded sternly across her chest as she glowered at the three Gryffindors.

"Nothing, Professor," Harry answered. "Just a little Quidditch talk."

"Still, it's approaching curfew. You three back to your tower at once."

With muttered acknowledgements, the Gryffindors slinkered off, glaring at Harry when they thought Professor Vector couldn't see. Her steely eye followed them until they left the stairwell.

"Were they bothering you, Mister Potter?"

Harry truthfully replied, "No, I could have handled them. Weasley's all talk."

Vector harrumphed. "Gryffindors! They're not brave enough to take _my_ class! I never have more than a handful of them at any given time. Only the very intelligent and the ambitious survive Arithmancy, as well as the odd wizard who just doesn't quit."

"Survive?"

"Oh, some of them will start it, thinking it's a breeze, thinking that seven can teach them everything." Vector harrumphed again. "Once they find out it's more than lucky numbers, they rapidly become interested in unicorns or tea leaves! Good riddance, I say! I want only the most serious minds in my classroom. Speaking of, get you to bed. We've got a lot of work to do in the morning."

"Yes, Professor. Good night."

"Good night, Mister Potter."

On Friday evening, the boys ducked out of the common room casually, one by one. Harry carried the cage with Weasley's rat under his cloak and met his friends in the empty classroom they used for practising their spellwork.

"Are we ready?" he asked.

"I still don't understand why we didn't invite the girls," Crabbe said in a questioning tone.

"Because, fathead," Tim said scathingly, "girls are soft creatures who'll think it's _mean_ to do what we're on about."

"Not Millie," Crabbe fired back. "She'd think this was great fun."

"But she'd tell the others."

"Not if we asked her not to, Nott."

"That's funny," Tim observed sourly. "Shut up."

"You shut up! My head's not fat!"

They had to avoid Filch as they crept up into the entrance hall and out the door. Harry took a deep breath of the night air and sighed with satisfaction. He'd been looking forward to tonight for weeks.

Perched on a branch in a tree a few steps from the gate, Regal and Arlette were waiting. Crabbe's pet owl, Marcus, that he'd just got at Christmas was also there. Onyx trotted along at Tim's feet.

They walked around the castle to a wall that didn't have many windows. Harry brought out the cage; the rat inside started squeaking pathetically.

"You're in for it now, little beastie," Crabbe said gleefully. "Bite me, will you?"

"Crabbe, would Marcus like the first chance?" Harry asked politely.

"Yeah!"

"Then ready, set, go!" Harry opened the cage and dumped the rat on the ground. It curled into a ball at Harry's feet and squeaked even more.

"That's pathetic," Draco said, nudging at the rat with his toe. "It's too scared to even run."

Marcus still perched on Crabbe's arm. Onyx, meanwhile, had flattened her ears and was stalking forward intently. The rat suddenly lifted its nose in the air, smelling the cat. Onyx pounced at the same moment the rat made a dash for freedom.

And the chase was on!

Three owls swooped in, trying to catch the rat in their talons. One cat prowled the ground, leaving the rat no safe place to run to. There were a lot of close calls. Harry and the others cheered at each near-kill.

The rat was surprisingly agile. It seemed to know just when to move to avoid the claws of cat or owl. If they were scoring on points, the rat won easily; fortunately, the rat only had to lose once.

Onyx ran after the rat as it made for one of the rocky out-croppings. She pounced again, missed, and scratched at the ground with a frustrated meow. Tim ran over and began swearing.

"It got away!"

"What?"

"There's a hole in the ground here! Bloody rat must've gone into it!"

"Well get it out!" Draco ordered imperiously.

"You get it out!"

"You're the great brain," Draco sneered. "What advanced magic do you know for getting rats out of small tunnels?"

Tim began to swear again, calling Draco all kinds of horrible names. He picked up Onyx, who was still pawing at the ground, and started back to the castle.

The next morning, Harry sat with his team at breakfast as they discussed who was likely to win the day's match. Gryffindor had an edge in experience over Ravenclaw's collection of relative rookies, but those rookies were very close friends, from what the team had observed. Gryffindor's star Chasers were a well-oiled machine, and Oliver Wood was a better Keeper than Biff Webster, but Cho Chang could fly circles around Lois Panning. It was going to be a heck of a match.

It was even a gorgeous day, clear and cool with a light breeze. The pitch sparkled dazzlingly in the winter sunshine. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

The stands were awash in red/gold and blue/bronze. Slytherins were bedecked in Ravenclaw's colours today, because they'd collectively prefer defenestration over wearing red. Hufflepuff, as it usually did, sided with Gryffindor.

The match was exciting from the starting whistle. The actions of the Chasers were dizzying, and the play rose far above the pitch into the realms where Seekers sometimes played. Madam Hooch called numerous penalties for boundary violations.

Then suddenly Chang dove. Harry couldn't see the Snitch, and then halfway down the pitch and right in front of Harry, Panning made a dive as well. Great Merlin, had Chang fallen for snow gleam again?

She had.

"I did it!" Panning squeaked, scarcely sounding as though she believed it herself. "I caught the Snitch!"

And Gryffindor went bananas.

As they slowly made their way back up to the dungeons, the Slytherins were stopped at the stone steps by Professor Snape. His face was gravely serious.

"You are all to report to the Great Hall," he said firmly. "There's been a security breach. It appears that during the Quidditch match, Black waylaid young Mister Nolan and tortured him until he gave up the password. We are searching the dungeons as we speak, and I must go now to supervise."

"What about Theo?" Laine Slater asked. Her friend Sarrah was older sister to the first year, Harry recalled.

"A bit shaken up, but no worse for wear."

"But tortured?"

"A mere turn of phrase, Miss Slater. Now off with you."

The search of the dungeons turned up no trace of Black. Nor was he found in any other part of the castle. When they were finally allowed to return to the common room, the boys found that their dormitory had been utterly trashed. Black must have gotten so frustrated at not finding Harry that he'd taken out his rage on the innocent furniture.

Security around the castle was tightened even further as Gryffindor's Fat Lady, restored by Filch, was rehung on the wall. She was now protected by two burly trolls, whose odour permeated the halls of Hogwarts.

"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" Draco said to Harry. "I mean, what's the point of having a secret entrance if you're just going to let everyone know where it is?"

"It's not like they're any great secret," Pansy said with a sniff. "Ours only stays secret because we don't proclaim the entrance."

"That's exactly my point, Pansy."

"You mean we agree?"

"Apparently."

"I may have to throw up."

"On Tim, if you please."

"Gladly."

As part of the new security procedures, curfew was also moved to an earlier time. Students were now required to remain in their common rooms after dinner. Prefect patrols were increased, and even the Hogsmeade visits were cancelled.

"Cancelled!" Pansy shrieked when Percy Weasley made the announcement in the common room.

"Yes," the Head Boy said firmly. "With Sirius Black out there, the dangers have been deemed too great for students to leave the castle."

"It's malarkey!" bellowed Derrick. "They can't cancel Hogsmeade! I've got a date with Bole's sister!"

"Liar!" Amanda Bole shouted.

"Dead man!" Ivan Bole echoed.

His announcement made, Percy didn't try to argue any further with the rest of the Slytherins. He sat back down at the table with his friends and began flipping through the pages of a book.

The third years looked around at each other in dismay. No Hogsmeade?

"Well, what will we do tomorrow?" Millie asked. From her tone, she didn't have any ideas. "There's still too much snow on the ground to do anything outside, and you can only go down that hill so many times."

"Speak for yourself," Crabbe interjected. "I could do that all day."

As the others began throwing out ideas, Pansy leaned in close to Harry and whispered, "Harry, could I have a word with you?"

Harry stood up and walked into the hallway that led to the dormitories. Pansy stepped around the corner and stopped. She peeked back behind her to make sure they hadn't been followed.

"Blaise told me everything," she said bluntly. "Well done, Harry."

Harry didn't know what to say.

"But it's made a little problem. I was supposed to be first. I'm always first. And I can't stand for this. I want to kiss someone, and I want to do it now."

Harry broke into a cold sweat. Surely she didn't mean-

"So tell me, Harry. Which of you boys fancies me?"

He offered up a grateful thanks to whomever happened to be listening. "I can't tell you that," he said, relieved that _she_ wasn't going to try kissing him too.

"Yes, you can. You can tell me anything. Please, Harry?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "I suppose I could just pick one of you, but I think it would be better if the boy likes me in return. So who is it?"

Harry thought hard for a long moment. Then an idea struck him, and a smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. It was perfect.

"Well," he began casually, "I do know that Draco has been rather put out that none of you girls seems interested in snogging with him."

"How do you know that-"

"And when we do talk about it, which is not often, mind, but he has bandied your name about a bit."

Pansy appeared startled. "Draco?" she wondered. "Really?"

"Yeah. Aren't you two supposed to be engaged?"

"It was arranged, yes," Pansy said absently, now nibbling on her lower lip, "but I've never suspected-" She broke off her thought and smiled up at Harry.

"Harry, thank you for telling me. And I am glad it's Draco. I certainly wouldn't want to mash with Crabbe or Goyle, and Tim is obviously out of the question."

"Obviously. You're welcome."

to be continued...


	16. The Breakup

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Sixteen - The Break-Up**

Several days later, Pansy deliberately sabotaged Parvati Patil's Sleeping Potion. Pansy reached across the aisle and dropped a few inches of unshredded salamander skin into Patil's cauldron when she turned to ask her partner Lavender Brown a question.

The potion began fizzing up immediately, spilling bright yellow foam down the sides of the cauldron and moving across the bench top. Patil screamed loudly as the stuff began dissolving her book bag, which was on the bench in violation of Professor Snape's laboratory rules.

Brown grabbed her own bag off the floor and quickly moved out of danger. Patil grabbed her knife and scraped at the bag, trying to save it. It might have helped if the knife hadn't started melting as well.

Then Professor Snape appeared. With a wave of his wand and a muttered word, the befouled potion vanished. Streams of smoke curled up from the bag.

"Miss Patil, do I dare ask what happened?" Snape drawled. "The proper ingredients of today's potion do not cause a corrosive effect in any combination, so I think that will fifteen points from Gryffindor for endangering your fellow students with your inability to fulfil even a minor responsibility."

"But Professor!" Brown protested.

"And as for you, Miss Brown," Snape continued relentlessly. "Were you too busy giggling to keep your partner from adding the wrong ingredients? That will be another fifteen points from Gryffindor."

Patil was fuming. She stared down at the ruins of her bag, but Harry could see her fists clenched tightly.

"There is not enough time for you to start over. You will both receive a zero mark, _and_ you will brew the potion in detention."

Snape wouldn't let them leave the classroom, either. They both had to sit silently while everyone else finished working and turned in their potions. When the lesson was finally over, Snape detained them both to dictate the terms of their detention.

"Well done, Pansy," Harry said in the hallway.

Pansy started a bit. "You saw that?"

"What's this?" Blaise asked. "Pansy, you did that?"

"It was masterful," Jenna said. "What did you drop in there?"

"A bit of salamander skin."

Tim burst out laughing. "Yes, that would do it. Well done, Pansy. Excellent prank."

"Why are you causing chaos in Potions?" Draco asked, sounding cross for some reason. "Has Patil done something awful lately that I don't know about?"

"Well I can't be sure, Draco. There's so much you don't know." Pansy flipped her pigtails over her shoulder.

"I happen to be brilliant," Draco snapped.

"You're a legend in your own mind."

Draco didn't respond. He glared at Pansy, but he then shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes and turned to walk away.

"Don't you walk away from me! Draco Malfoy, you come back here right now!" Pansy shouted, stamping her foot.

Draco turned and took a couple of steps back towards Pansy. Pansy glanced over her shoulder, back towards the Potions laboratory. Patil and Brown had come out of the classroom and were walking towards the Slytherins.

Pansy looked back at Draco. "You are the most brainless, thoughtless, useless git in the world!"

Then she reached out, took a handful of the front of his robes, and kissed him.

Blaise, Tim, Jenna, and Millie were staring. So were Patil and Brown.

After a few seconds, Pansy broke away, smiled sweetly up at a very confused-looking Draco, and swept down the corridor. She winked at Harry as she passed him, and Harry heard her humming softly to herself.

Draco looked as though someone had hit him over the head with a board. Then he turned the most smashing shade of red and bolted in the opposite direction, nearly knocking Patil and Brown over as he shoved between them. The two girls watched him flee and then giggled to each other.

"Did we just really see that?" Patil asked, approaching the dumbfounded Slytherins.

"I'm not sure what I saw," Millie replied, ignoring for the moment the fact that she didn't like Gryffindors.

"Why'd he run off like that?" Brown inquired.

"Probably had to go brag to his brother," Tim snickered. "'Elan says this'. 'Elan says that'."

"Elan would be Head Boy this year, Tim. Shall I tell him you're mocking him? I'd love to see what some of those German curses he's learning about would do to you." Jenna had always liked Elan.

"No thanks."

"Not scared of the big, bad Malfoy are you, Nott?" Patil asked scornfully.

"Not scared, Patil. Just mindful of the fact that he can likely out duel me. Remember, we Slytherins are eminently practical. I'd rather not get hexed."

"And you are so very Slytherin," Patil sighed. "Well, see you around."

By the next day at lunch, most of the school seemed to know what had happened outside the Potions classroom. Girls giggled whenever Draco passed by, and the older blokes offered grinning congratulations. Draco, once over his initial shock and chagrin, took it all in stride. He had completely switched tracks on the question of girls, and now he piled endlessly on Tim, Crabbe, and Goyle about "joining the men". It was actually rather tiresome.

In the start of April, a long-standing mystery was solved. Harry had first observed on the train ride to school in second year that Jenna would be extremely energetic and obnoxiously perky when she had consumed coffee. But in the weeks and months of having coffee with her on Thursday mornings, Harry had never seen her react the same way.

Professor Flitwick was the instrument of revelation. He was delivering his Charms lecture with his usual bombast, but Harry was fairly distracted by Blaise twirling her hair and was not paying much attention.

"And that's where I'll end it today," Flitwick said, putting his notes away. "We'll pick up next time with the Cheering Charm. The incantation is '_Gauisus phasmatis_'. Say it, everyone."

"Gauisus phasmatis."

"Good! Practice it! Dismissed!"

"Hey!" Jenna said in surprise.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I know that Charm!"

"What?"

"I said I know that Charm. I heard it every morning at the breakfast table. Dad uses it to make coffee."

"Coffee? The stuff they don't let you have?"

"Yeah. Oh my God! Dad's been putting a Cheering Charm on the coffee!"

"Well, that might explain a few things." Harry had read a few chapters ahead in the Standard Book of Spells and knew that the Cheering Charm artificially introduced happiness and good humour.

"I _told_ them all it wasn't the coffee that did it to me!"

And the mystery was solved. After the next Charms lesson, the Slytherins were all tremendously perky and happy. They went back to the common room joking and laughing just like they had as eleven-year-olds. All of the strange moods the boys had been in lately and the silly private giggling that the girls had contantly been at evaporated. Even Tim and Pansy didn't snipe at each other.

Pansy _did_, however, pay a lot of attention to Draco. She walked very close to him, nearly shoulder to shoulder. All the way down to the dungeons, she chattered on about how much she had enjoyed the last Astronomy lesson. Her constant stream of words prevented anyone from getting the password out.

Instead of shouting at her or insulting her, Draco chose a somewhat unorthodox approach to rendering Pansy silent. He leaned forward and kissed her.

It lasted only a few seconds. Pansy's face plainly showed her astonishment. Then she smirked and smooched him back.

"Remember Kettleburn," she said sweetly. The stone wall slid open, and the pair sauntered down the steps to sit at one of the tables.

"What ridiculousness is going on?" Millie grumbled, looking up at Crabbe. "You're not getting any crazy ideas, are you, lug?"

Crabbe had the decency not to laugh. "Naw, Mills. Not that you're not stunning."

"Well all right then."

Cheering Charms, Professor Flitwick had advised them, would likely appear on the final examination at the end of term. Other teachers likewise began dropping hints. The Easter holiday was really no holiday at all, merely a week in which they attended no classes and were assigned no new homework. It was good that they had the week, for there was a lot to study.

But Harry couldn't spend his whole vacation studying. He and Draco ran Quidditch drills, practised their duelling spells, and spent a good few hours in the weight room listening to Elan talk about anything and everything. Whether it was girls, magic, or Quidditch, Elan had lots of good stories.

"There's this one bloke a year behind me," Elan said during a weight training session, "by the name of Krum, and to look at him on the ground, you wouldn't think him worth a bent Knut. But put him on a broom, and by jingo he's phenomenal!"

"What position does he play?" Harry was considering switching to a heavier dumbbell.

"Seeker," Elan replied, putting down the weights, drawing his wand, and tapping the hexagonal metal. He picked them up again, grunting at the new mass. "Not much of a talker, but he's a wild man on the pitch. I think he'd even give you a run for your money, Harry."

"If he wants to challenge the youngest Seeker in a century, let him come to Hogwarts and try."

"How's the weight there, Draco?"

Draco was sweating profusely. His repetitions were slower, but he had a determined set to his jaw. "I'm fine," he said shortly.

"You're sure? Because I can make it lighter for you."

"Piss off."

"I wouldn't mind."

"Shut up, Elan."

At that moment, one of the house elves entered the room. "Begging Masters' pardons, but the Master has sent Nibby to ask Harry Potter to call on him in his office please."

"What does he want?" Harry asked, setting his weights down.

"Master did not see fit to share that with Nibby, sir."

"Go to your master, and tell him that I will be along once I've had a shower."

The elf bowed low and vanished with a soft bang.

Quickly washing off the sweat he'd built up in the weight room, Harry pulled on fresh robes and ascended to the third floor. He knocked lightly on the heavy door.

"Come in."

Draco's father was sitting at his desk scratching on a few parchments with his quill. He had changed robes since dinner and now sported a blue so dark it tricked the eye. The fabric scattered light from the lamps. His finest cloak was draped over the back of his chair.

"You sent for me, Mister Malfoy?"

"Ah, Harry, thank you for coming. Narcissa and I will be going out momentarily, but I wanted to give you and I a chance to talk man to man."

"Okay." Harry was confused.

"By now you've had some time to get used to the idea that there are boy-people and girl-people. You've gone out to a concert with young Miss Zabini, and I've no doubt you've been doing a little kissing, eh?" Mr. Malfoy was giving Harry a knowing smile.

"Yes, sir," Harry admitted.

"As it should be. My purpose is not to embarrass you, but I do want to make certain that you have been living up to the behavioural standards of our society. I'm sure you're aware of how I feel about Muggles."

Harry chuckled at Mr. Malfoy's dry wit. "Yes, sir. I quite agree, honestly."

"Their culture is barbaric. I've seen gangs of young hooligans wearing the most disgusting clothing, and their public decorum leaves much to be desired. Witches are not objects to be pawed and fondled with irreverence like Muggle women. Witches are women to be treated with respect and affection. We are all born of woman. They birth the young and consequently are to be cherished and protected. A wizard should be willing to lay down his life to save a witch. If he is not willing to do this, he is not a man at all."

"I see." Harry understood about sacrifice. His father had faced Voldemort in order to try to give Lily Potter time to escape with baby Harry.

"Holding hands is permitted and encouraged as a public form of affection. Kissing should last no more than three seconds. Groping is right out. If you permit your hands to wander, you should fully expect a slap across the face. And you will deserve it."

"Yes, sir. What's groping?"

"Placing of the hands on the torso or legs. It is a subconscious claim of possession. Witches will not be possessed." Mr. Malfoy gave him a sharp look. "Remember she has a wand and knows how to use it."

"I will."

"Good. I think that about covers it." He raised his voice slightly. "Come in, my treasure."

Mrs. Malfoy opened the door and stepped into the office. She looked absolutely stunning. Dark silver robes covered her from neck to ankle, but her arms were bare and decorated with platinum bangles around her biceps and elbows. Long strands of diamonds glittered from her ears and from the jewelled hairpins that kept her blonde hair up.

Mr. Malfoy rose to greet her, gently taking her hand in his and bowing down to kiss the back of it.

"Cara mia," he whispered, staring deep into her eyes.

She touched his face with one hand. "My darling," she said longingly.

Then he pulled her close, his hands sliding around her waist; her arms looped around his neck. Their lips met in a kiss that might have gone on forever, but they both showed restraint and pulled back.

Mr. Malfoy turned back to Harry. "Cissa is my heart and my soul. My world would be hollow without her. She makes me feel complete. As it should be. Though our marriage was arranged, it is not without love. Without it, nothing else matters; not wealth, not power, not influence."

"You'll discover that as you grow up, dear. Don't expect to find it in the first girl you kiss. Our families once speculated that Lucius should marry my older sister Bellatrix."

"I would rather have died alone."

"The right girl is out there waiting for you, and you have plenty of time to find her."

Harry didn't quite know what to say. He was definitely cognisant that Blaise was a girl. She was a nice girl at that; very caring, very sincere. He supposed he did love her after a fashion; he loved all his friends. Was he _in_ love with her? Would he even know it if he was?

"So you're going out tonight?" Harry felt that maybe this was a safer subject.

"Yes. But there's no sense in repeating it. Would you please retrieve Draco and Elan and meet us in the sitting room?"

"Certainly."

Harry nearly tripped down the stairs as he ran down to the weight room. He banged the door open with more force than he'd intended and cast a sheepish look as both Elan and Draco glanced askance at him.

"Your mum and dad are heading out," he said. "They want you in the sitting room."

Elan wiped his face with a towel and immediately headed up. Draco dropped his weights and likewise made for the stairs.

"Boys, as you know, tonight is our twentieth anniversary." Mr. Malfoy sounded very happy about it. "We're going out to Loch Lomond and will not be back until the morning. Elan, you are in charge. Draco, you will obey your brother. Harry, I know I don't have to worry about you. Under no circumstances are you to invite friends over for a party."

"I've got too much studying to do to have a party," Elan said instantly.

"Good. We'll see you in the morning."

As soon as they were gone, Elan immediately tossed a pinch of Floo powder in the fire. "Villa Zabini!"

"What are you doing? Father just told you no parties."

"I'm not having a party." Elan stuck his head in the fireplace. "Hello? Jamie, are you there?"

"Elan!"

"Hey beautiful. Can you visit?"

"Sure. I need to see you anyway."

Elan ended the call.

"Jamie's coming over," he said with a wink.

Harry grinned at him, knowing what the older boy was insinuating. The couple would soon be finding a secluded corner of the Malfoy grounds to engage in some idle snogging.

"Father said no parties."

"And this isn't a party. It's just Jamie. Now you two clear off and give a chap some privacy."

The boys clambered up the stairs. Draco opened the door to his bedroom and immediately shut it again.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"I've had a brilliant idea. Let's spy on them."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Lots of reasons. Blackmail amongst them."

He spoke a password and pushed open a panel in the hallway on the second floor to reveal a small set of stairs that led down behind the wall of the sitting room.

"What's that?" Harry asked, indicating narrow slits that spilled in lamp light.

"It's part of the décor. Completely invisible from any angle in that room."

Anything further Draco might have said was interrupted as green flames suddenly roared in the fireplace and Jamie stepped out.

"Ah, my dulcet darling," Elan said extravagently, swooping in to peck Jamie on the lips. "You look so lovely."

"Thank you."

"There's no moon, but would you like to go for a walk in the darkness? We could be alone for awhile."

Jamie shuffled her feet a bit. There was a lengthy pause, before she said, "We're alone now. Can we talk for a bit?"

"Talk?" Elan sounded disappointed. "I've only got a few days before I go back to Durmstrang. I'd much rather do something else with my lips."

"Is that all I am to you?" Jamie asked. "Something to snog in the darkness?"

Elan looked slightly startled. "Certainly not. We can stay inside and snog if you wish."

Jamie slapped him sharply across the face. She shoved him down onto the couch and glared at him like a thunderstorm from above. Her jaw set, she put her fists on her hips. She looked ready to explode.

"How long have you been unfaithful to me, Elan?" she demanded in the hardest tone.

"I have not been unfaithful, Jamie," he denied instantly. "Why do you accuse me? Who has been telling you tales? Was it Fitzjean? Or Sawyer?"

"Don't you dare to talk about my friends in that tone of voice," she ordered him. "It was Lynn who told me, and she wormed it out of Percy."

"Now how would Percy know about what goes on at Durmstrang?" Elan questioned in acid tones.

"Your letters!" she shouted at him. "You can't find time to write to the girlfriend who's been waiting for you, pining for you, but you can take time to make secret evil plots with your cousin!"

"Inviting him to get together over the holidays hardly constitutes an evil plot," Elan scoffed derisively.

"I know what you were planning to do, you cad," Jamie stormed on. "No decent wizard talks about women that way! You disgust me!"

"You're being hysterical," he patronized. "I don't care what Fawcett's been telling you; I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

He stood up, pushing her back. "I'm done with this, Jamie. We're through. It's over. I don't want you to owl me any more. The N.E.W.T.s are only five months away, and I need to study. I can't be distracted by you and your ridiculous fantasies."

She stared at him, incredulity plain on her face. Whatever outcome she had expected, this didn't seem to be it. The look Elan was giving her was scornful and scathing at the same time. He looked like his father.

Jamie's hand rose up holding her wand. Elan slapped her hand away immediately, causing her hex to fly off course. The blue light crashed into a vase on the mantle, scattering water and flowers everywhere. She spun around, pointing the wand over her shoulder, but Elan saw it coming and ducked out of the way. This one sailed across the room and zapped a hapless house elf that went flying against the wall with a crash. She waved her wand in great sweeps and pointed it down at him, but he rolled to the side to avoid the red bolt of light that set the couch on fire.

"You crazy bitch!" Elan cussed, his hand flashing into his pocket for his own wand. "_Aegis vocare!_"

The Blasting Hex she loosed bounced off his shield and shattered the window. She cast another hex that Harry didn't recognize, but it also was ineffective. She tried the Disarming Charm, but Elan looked at her almost pityingly.

"I'll show you a real disarming charm," he promised. "_Infractus manus!_" Jamie tried to sidestep the bolt of white light, but it curved with the path of Elan's wand and struck her in the wand hand. There was a loud, rapid series of cracking sounds. Jamie screamed in pain. Her wand fell to the floor, and she clutched her broken hand to her chest.

She sank to her knees and began to sob, overcome by her emotions. Elan stared down at her for a long moment. He watched his ex-girlfriend cry, his expression reflecting the storm of thoughts that had to be playing in his mind. Without a word, he turned and walked from the room, leaving her there amidst the smoke from the burning couch.

The house elf that had been blasted against the wall hobbled gingerly over to the fire and clapped its hands. The flames died. The elf snapped its fingers with both hands, and the couch repaired itself. It motioned to the shattered vase and window, and each in turn was restored. When all the damage to the room from the brief duel had been erased, the elf bowed its head and disappeared with a pop.

Jamie was still crying on the floor. Some of her cries were sharp, as if of pain. Other sobs were more wracking, emotional. It was uncomfortable to watch her.

Harry turned away. This moment was too private, too raw for him to cope with. It was troubling that a relationship that seemed so rock solid should crumble into dust so fantastically. Elan and Jamie had once been in love, but here they'd just hexed each other in anger.

What if that happened to him and Blaise? That horrible thought came at him from out of nowhere. Blaise was a lot like her older sister, and Harry knew it would hurt tremendously if Blaise, whom he was so very close to, ever raised her wand against him.

It could never happen, Harry realized with sudden epiphany. He wouldn't let it. He wouldn't let their friendship go up in smoke like that couch. No house elf magic could fix what was so fragile.

The ramifications of the break-up naturally spread to Hogwarts.

In the Slytherin common room, after the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had ended in a tie, the upper form girls had arranged for an ice cream party. While the younger students were allowed to have some, as they were handed a bowl, everyone fourth year and below was banished to the dormitories by the prefects. Only the older students were allowed to party, and Harry heard Blaise telling Pansy that it had been organized to find Jamie a new boyfriend.

"I think it's so nice," Blaise gushed, sighing dramatically. "She deserves to find a good man, not some worthless two-timer Malfoy."

"That's my brother you're talking about, Zabini," Draco said warningly. "Mind what you say."

"That's my sister who's been crying her eyes out for a solid week. She's missed half her classes, and she did abysmal on her last Charms exam. Don't tell me what to say, Malfoy."

"She can cry a whole river of tears, but then she needs to conjure a bridge and get over it."

"Elan can't be held responsible if witches at Durmstrang find him handsome," Pansy said, joining the argument. "Jamie needs to learn how to deal with her issues if she's going to get him back."

"Don't you go defending him, Pansy!" Blaise shouted. "You know he's a cad!"

"Don't raise your voice to me, Blaise," Pansy warned in deadly tones. "You will speak reasonably or not at all."

"Elan Malfoy is the world's biggest cad," Blaise said slowly, leaning closer to Pansy with every word.

"Speaking that opinion might not be the wisest option," Pansy replied just as intently. "You forget yourself, Zabini."

Emotions rippled across Blaise's face as she struggled for control. Her mouth opened, but she was searching for words that would not manifest.

"See? You _can_ still your tongue." Pansy wasn't _quite_ sneering. "I recommend you do more of it in the future."

Harry didn't know what to do. He thought he should side with Blaise because he liked her and sometimes kissed her, but Elan was the older and smarter boy who'd helped him out adjusting to Hogwarts. Elan had been the one to orchestrate Harry's rescue from Privet Drive in the summer before second year and been banished to Durmstrang for his efforts. Elan talked to Harry as though he weren't just some dumb kid.

"I think Elan's a real decent bloke," he said quietly, not wanting to stir up more shouting. "I think Draco's real lucky to have him as a big brother."

Blaise stared at him, her eyes wide and questioning. She wanted to know why he had defended Elan, and Harry wasn't sure she would understand. Blaise looked around to see Pansy and Draco both glaring at her. She seemed to wilt then, as she swallowed her words. She sat very still and stared at her hands in her lap.

Millie broke the awkward silence with a rude snort. "This is why romance is stupid, Crabbe. Good friends there shouting at each other over things their bloody siblings are doing. It's complete drivel, if you ask me."

"It is," he agreed.

"So why don't we agree to stop talking about it?" Goyle suggested.

"That's brilliant, Goyle."

"Thanks, Mills."

"Wanna play Exploding Rummy?"

"You bet."

But the rest of the house was talking about it the next morning. Lawrence Derrick and Jamie had been seen talking quietly in the corner at the party.

"I don't see how any respectable witch can start up again after only a week," Pansy declared in response to the news. "Certainly in love with Elan, wasn't she? What's she done to try and get him back?"

"I must say, I agree with you, Pansy," Tim said, sounding astounded. "Two weeks would definitely be more appropriate. You add an extra week for that hair."

"You are about as sensitive as a lamp, Tim. Do you know that?"

"I really am, aren't I?" he agreed with vast insincerity obvious in his voice.

"Well why don't you go chat her up if you think she's so wonderful?"

Tim's body language said he was considering it. "No, ditzy blondes aren't my type. I don't need a crier either."

"She does cry a lot, doesn't she?" Pansy questioned, her tone suddenly agreeable.

"That she does."

There was a pause, the air free from Tim and Pansy's usual disagreement.

"Why Malfoy?" he asked, changing the subject completely. "I can't figure it out."

"Well, we are betrothed," Pansy said reasonably. "Crabbe has no neck, and Goyle's teeth are crooked. And it could hardly be you, now, could it? Who else could it be?"

"Not jealous, are you, Tim?" Harry couldn't resist asking.

"Hardly!" Tim scoffed. "I'd much rather have a snog with Patil. She quite liked me in Quidditch leathers, you know."

"Padma?" Harry knew the lads' consensus: The Patil twins were the prettiest girls in third year.

"Parvati."

"A Gryffindor!" Pansy hissed incredulously. "Who are you, and what have you done with Tim Nott? The Nott I know would never touch lips with a Gryffindor."

"Well, I did."

"What?"

"At Wand Smasher last summer. She kissed me, actually. Threatened to hex me if I told anyone, so I guess I'll have to be on my guard for awhile."

Pansy looked like her head was going to explode. "That's just not right."

"Way to go, Tim!" Harry cheered, clapping his friend on the back."

"I'm only telling you because I'm tired of Draco's endless talk about the 'man club'. You must be too, by now. Please help me shut him up."

"We just need someone to kiss Crabbe and Goyle, then we're all 'in'," Harry suggested.

"Some_one_? A single volunteer?"

"You two will _not_ ask a girl to do that," Pansy stated resolutely. "It's demeaning."

"Surely there must be one girl in the school who likes Goyle's muscles or thinks Crabbe is handsome." Harry didn't think the second likely at all. "We just find her and encourage her to get kissy with him."

"Worst idea ever," Tim and Pansy said in unison.

to be continued...


	17. The Truth About Sirius Black

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Seventeen - The Truth About Sirius Black**

Harry Potter was frustrated. The school year had passed in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Exams were only ten days away; May was almost over, and the dementors had yet to catch Sirius Black.

As the months had ticked by, Harry's mood had progressively deteriorated. He'd now been in a foul mood for days. He was terse with his friends, he had no patience with Weasley, and even the time he spent with Blaise couldn't put a smile on his face anymore.

To top this morning off, he hadn't slept well. He'd had his old nightmare about Voldemort killing his parents again and had woken up screaming. Ever since he'd learned about Black's involvement in the murders, his cackling laughter had been a part of it as well.

"You know, Harry," Crabbe said in response to his grumbling, "if you're so eager to catch Sirius Black, you ought to be checking the Marauder's Map every night before you go to bed. He's obviously sneaking into the castle somehow, but that's not important. Once he's here, you'll see him."

There was a moment of dead silence.

"Crabbe, that is the most brilliant thing I've ever heard." Harry was once again astounded by his stocky friend. "I think your problem is that you just don't _look_ all that clever."

Crabbe grinned at him. "Thanks, I think."

Harry rummaged through his trunk and pulled out the map that had been a present from Percy Weasley. In a desperate attempt to save his baby sister, Percy had begged Harry on his knees and given up this powerful magical object.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Harry said, tapping the parchment with his wand. As always, he marvelled as the ink appeared, showing the castle and grounds. There he and his mates were in the Slytherin dorms.

Harry flipped through the folds of the map. It was fairly easy to read so early in the morning when all the students and staff were just beginning to rise. Everyone was still in their dorms, except for Dumbledore, pacing round and round in his office.

It didn't appear that Black was in the castle at the moment. Harry shifted his scrutiny to the grounds. Hagrid was moving around, which surprised Harry. Then he froze in disbelief as he read another name on the parchment near Hagrid.

Peter Pettigrew.

That was the man who had been murdered by Sirius Black in a street full of Muggles. What was his name doing on the Marauder's Map? He wasn't marked as a ghost, like the castle ghosts were. His indicator dot looked just like Hagrid's. Both dots had stopped moving in very close proximity.

What was going on?

Harry pulled on his clothes and shoved his feet into his slippers. Ignoring the wondering questions of his mates, he walked down the hall a few doors to where the seventh year boys slept. He pushed the door open hesitantly. Soft snores told him that all three boys were still asleep. He ducked inside.

"Percy," he said softly. There was no response, so he repeated it.

"Mmm." It wasn't words, more like a sound.

"Percy!" Harry shook him. "Wake up."

"Wha'?" Percy came back to the world. "What's going on? Harry? What's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you. Right now."

"Sure, sure." Percy yawned hugely and sat up. He slid himself up to the head of his bed, curling his legs under him. He grabbed his wand off the night stand and waved it, causing his dressing gown to float through the air to him, which he then put on.

"Sit," he said with another yawn. Harry took a place at the foot of the bed, and closed the curtains behind him.

"Do a Silencing Charm."

If that surprised Percy at all, he didn't let it show. "_Silencio._"

"Good." He pulled out the map. "I need to know about this. How accurate is it? Is it ever wrong?"

"As far as I know, it's dead accurate," Percy said, fighting off tiredness. "Fred and George swore to it."

"Could they have been lying?"

"No. I know my brothers, and they were telling me the truth." He covered his mouth with his hand as he yawned again.

Harry put the map away. "What do you know about Peter Pettigrew?"

"Huh?" Percy was definitely confused. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"What do you know?"

"Well Pettigrew is a hero, firstly. I was six or so when I first heard about him. He was friends with James Potter and- oh."

"Keep going."

"Well, he was friends with your folks, and when Black betrayed them, he went to track him down."

"Uh huh."

"From all the stories I heard, Peter wasn't anywhere near the wizard that your dad was or that Black was. But he didn't care. He was so filled with anger and despair that he threw caution for his own life to the wind and went after Black anyway. He could have let the Aurors handle it, but he was a Gryffindor. He didn't let his fear control him."

"And Black killed him?"

"Along with a dozen Muggles. There were lots of witnesses. All that they found of him was a finger. But he bought the Aurors enough time to arrive and capture Black. They gave him the Order of Merlin for his sacrifice. He's a hero."

"Thanks, Percy." Harry had heard enough.

"What's going on, Harry? Can I help?"

"You already did. Don't say anything about this to anyone. I mean it."

Percy stared at him for a moment. "As you wish, Harry. _Finite incantatem._"

Harry exited the dorm, leaving a very confused Head Boy behind. He couldn't imagine what Harry was up to, and the effort of trying to figure it out was making him sleepy again. He laid his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes.

All day long, whenever Harry got a spare moment, he checked the map. Pettigrew's name was still there, still in Hagrid's hut. Hagrid himself was teaching Care of Magical Creatures as though nothing were amiss. Harry was at a loss to explain it. The only thing he could do was wait until nightfall, when he could go investigate.

He had his dad's invisibility cloak tucked into his pocket as he went up to dinner. He was too distracted to eat, and he ignored Blaise's attempts to get him to talk. Instead, he drank several glasses of pumpkin juice and sank into deep thought.

There was a small stir as dinner was ending when an owl dropped off a bit of parchment to Weasley. He opened it, immediately got a big smile, and said something to Thomas and Finnigan. When they were leaving, he angled away from the crowd and headed for the front gate.

Harry checked his watch. There were only a few minutes left until curfew. What could Weasley possibly be doing? Harry turned sharply away from his friends as they hurried back to the common room for a study session and stepped into a broom closet. He pulled the map out of his pocket and drew his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. _Lumos._"

He found Weasley easily enough outside the front gate. He was heading off towards the Quidditch pitch. That didn't make sense; Weasley didn't play on the team. But Weasley wasn't going to the Quidditch pitch. Harry's eyes widened as he realized the truth - Weasley was making a beeline for Hagrid's hut!

That owl had to have been from Hagrid. Harry was sure of it. He pulled his dad's cloak out of his pocket and put it on. Under the cover of invisibility, Harry exited the broom closet, passed through the now-empty entrance hall, and opened the door out into the twilight.

Weasley was about halfway to his destination. Harry walked quickly after him. What was Weasley doing going to meet with Hagrid and a dead wizard hero? Harry didn't know, but he was sure going to find out!

Harry looked down at the map as he walked. Pettigrew was still there. Harry decided that a nearby outcropping of rock would be the perfect place to hide and watch.

When Weasley reached the door to Hagrid's hut, he knocked immediately, and was tackled to the ground as Hagrid's boar hound Fang jumped all over him. Hagrid closed the door.

Harry waited, watching, as Weasley left the hut - and Pettigrew's dot moved with him! Harry wanted answers. He put away the map, tucked away his invisibility cloak and tried to stay calm. He drew his wand and waited for Weasley to get close.

"Halt!" he ordered, brandishing his wand. Weasley stopped in his tracks. His hands were filled with his stupid pet rat, nowhere near his wand. He was caught.

"What do you want, Potter?" Weasley asked as he narrowed his eyes, the pale blue irises like chips of ice. "Got no Muggleborns to petrify tonight?"

"Shut up. What are you doing out here?"

"What business is it of yours?" was Weasley's snotty reply. "I don't see you wearing a prefect's badge."

"Why were you down at Hagrid's hut?"

Before Weasley could answer, his rat squirmed in his hands. "Easy, Scabbers. It's just an evil Slytherin. We can take care of him."

Suddenly Harry heard a low growling sound. He also heard the soft pounding of gigantic paws. He kept his wand trained on Weasley, but took a quick look around.

Something was bounding toward them, quiet as a shadow - an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog. It made a great leap and the front paws hit Weasley on the chest; he keeled over backward.

He could hear it growling as it skidded around for a new attack. The dog sprang back toward them; his jaws fastened around Weasley's leg and dragged him away as easily as though he were a rag doll.

It was the same dog he'd seen in Magnolia Crescent. Harry was certain of it. He'd liked that dog and been sad to have to leave him behind. Just as he'd predicted, the dog was great for terrorizing Weasley, because the boy's screams would be legend in the school if Harry got out of this alive.

But Weasley hadn't answered his questions, and Harry wasn't about to give up. He lunged after Weasley, barely missing the boy's cloak. He managed to get a brief hold, but the threadbare fabric ripped from the force of the dog's pulling.

Harry cast a spell to shoot a rope out of the end of his wand. It wrapped around Weasley's waist and yanked Harry across the ground. He held on fiercely as the dog dragged them both into the shadow of the Whomping Willow.

Its branches were creaking as though in a high wind, whipping backward and forward to stop people going nearer. The dog dragged them into a large gap in the roots. Weasley was fighting furiously, but he was already slipping out of sight. He hooked one of his legs around a root in an effort to stop the dog from pulling him farther underground, but a horrible crack cut the air like a shot; the leg had broken, and a moment later, his feet vanished from sight.

Harry slid along the ground, and the spell connecting him to Weasley broke as he lost hold of his wand. He tumbled down through the roots, sliding head-first down an earthy slope to the bottom of a very low tunnel.

He groped about for his wand and cast a light spell. He'd seen this tunnel on the Marauder's Map heading off towards Hogsmeade, but the Whomping Willow was off-limits and the violent nature of the tree had always kept everyone away.

He moved as fast as he could, bent almost double. It went on forever, and he couldn't see Weasley any more, though he could hear him crying. And then the tunnel began to rise; moments later it twisted, and Harry could see a patch of dim light through a small opening. He paused, edging forward. He raised his lit wand to see what lay beyond.

It was a room; a very disordered, dusty room. Paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up.

Harry pulled himself out of the hole and stared around. The room was deserted, but a door to his right stood open, leading to a shadowy hallway. His eyes fell on a wooden chair near him. Large chunks had been torn out of it; one of the legs had been ripped off entirely.

It felt like the right distance to Hogsmeade, not that he'd ever done it hunched over before. But none of the buildings in Hogsmeade were of this construction except-

"The Shrieking Shack," he whispered. But ghosts didn't do that kind of damage.

At that moment, there was a creak overhead. Something had moved upstairs. Quietly as he could, he crept out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor, where a wide shiny stripe had been made by something being dragged upstairs.

He reached the dark landing.

"_Nox_," he whispered, and the light at the end of his wand went out. Only one door was open. As he crept toward it, he heard movement from behind it. There was a low moan.

Wand held tightly before him, Harry kicked the door wide open. On the floor next to a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hangings, clutching his leg, which stuck out at a strange angle, was Weasley.

Harry stepped cautiously into the room. "All right, Weasley? Where's the dog?"

"Not a dog," Weasley moaned. His teeth were gritted with pain. "He's an Animagus."

Weasley was staring over Harry's shoulder. Harry wheeled around. With a snap, the man in the shadows closed the door behind them.

This was no man. This was a zombie, something Harry had read about in his Defence books. Waxy skin was stretched tightly over the bones of his face. Combined with the grinning yellow teeth, it looked liked a skull. If eyes hadn't been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, Harry wouldn't have taken him for alive at all.

Harry pointed his wand straight at Sirius Black's black heart.

"Going to kill me, Harry?" he whispered.

Harry forgot that he was short and skinny and thirteen, whereas Black was a tall, full-grown man. He forgot that Black was now probably armed with a wand. He forgot magic altogether. That taunt roared in his ears, and all Harry knew was that he wanted to hurt Black as badly as he could and that he didn't care how much he got hurt in return.

"You killed my mum and dad!" Harry roared, and he lunged forward.

Perhaps it was the shock of Harry doing something so stupid, but Black didn't raise the wand in time. One of Harry's hands fastened over his wasted wrist, forcing the wand tip away; the knuckles of Harry's other hand collided with the side of Black's head and they fell, backward, into the wall.

There was a blinding flash as the wand in Black's hand sent a jet of sparks into the air that missed Harry's face by inches; Harry felt the shrunken arm under his fingers twisting madly, but he clung on, his other hand punching every part of Black it could find.

But Black's free hand had found Harry's throat. "No," he hissed, "I've waited too long!"

The fingers tightened, Harry choked, his glasses askew. Blackness was setting in.

And then he could breathe again. Black released him, taking his wand. Harry spent the next few minutes just gasping for air. When he looked up, it was to find himself at wandpoint.

"You killed my parents," said Harry, his voice wheezy. "Why?"

"I know I killed your parents. I can't deny it," Black said very quietly, his voice sounding as though he had long since lost the habit of using it. He stared down at Harry with those sunken eyes. "But you've got to listen to me," Black said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice now. "You'll regret it if you don't. You don't understand."

"I understand a lot better than you think," said Harry, and his voice shook more than ever. "My mum tried to stop Voldemort killing me, and she's dead now. You did that. You did it!"

"Not me," Black whispered. "Not me."

Harry didn't want to listen. He'd failed to avenge his parents, and now was likely going to die himself. But he couldn't help but ask, "Then who?"

"Him."

"Weasley? You're crackers!"

And then came a new sound. Muffled footsteps were echoing up through the floor. Someone was moving downstairs.

"Help!" Weasley shouted. "Sirius Black is up here! Help!"

Footsteps thundered up the stairs. The door of the room burst open in a shower of red sparks, and Professor Lupin came hurtling into the room, his face bloodless, his wand raised and ready.

"_Expelliarmus!_" he shouted.

Black's stolen wand flew out of his hand. Lupin caught it deftly and then moved into the room, staring at Black.

"Sirius, my old friend," he said sadly. "Looking rather ragged, aren't we? Finally, the flesh reflects the madness within."

"Well, you'd know all about the madness within, wouldn't you?"

"It's over, Sirius."

"Remus! Wait!"

Lupin's voice was completely emotionless. "For what, Sirius? For you to trick me the same way you tricked Lily and James into making you their Secret Keeper? For you to betray me the same way you betrayed them? For you to kill me the same way you killed Peter? No. It's over. I'm going to take you back up to the school and turn you over to the dementors."

"He's not dead."

"What?"

"I said, he's not dead."

"Who?" Lupin demanded.

"Peter."

"Peter isn't dead?" Lupin sounded as though he couldn't believe it. "What fantasy is this? The dementors have driven you insane."

"Peter Pettigrew?" Harry interrupted. "He's alive?"

"He is."

"Don't listen to him, Harry!" Lupin ordered sharply. "He's a tricky one who'll say anything."

"Tell me about Peter Pettigrew," Harry said, ignoring Lupin.

"He was at school with us. We thought he was our friend."

"Harry, we don't have time for this!"

"Then go! I'll deal with him!"

"After rushing down when I saw him drag you off, I certainly will _not_," Lupin declared with a steely note in his voice that Harry had never heard before.

"I believe him."

Lupin was astounded. It was plain on his face, and Black's as well.

"I've seen him before, in his Animagus form." Harry looked piercingly at Black.

Black nodded. "On Magnolia Crescent."

"He could have killed me then. But he didn't. And I've got other evidence. I've seen Pettigrew's name floating around the castle on this map I've seen-"

"Map?" Sirius interrupted sharply. "Map, do you say?" He laughed, and not a note of insanity was present in the sound. "Remus, my old friend, young Harry here's been up to no good!"

Harry's jaw dropped along with Lupin's. "How do you know about the map?" he demanded.

"Know about it?" Black seemed almost giddy. "I _invented_ it. Remus helped some, and your dad, too. We were all together in Gryffindor, did you know that?"

"Harry, how did _you_ get the map? It was confiscated by Filch many years ago."

"It doesn't matter, Remus! The map never lies! Peter is alive! And he's right here!"

"Where, Sirius?"

Black's face was quite expressionless. For a few seconds, he didn't move at all. Then, very slowly, he raised his empty hand and pointed straight at Weasley. Mystified, Harry glanced around at Weasley, who looked bewildered.

"But then-" Lupin muttered, staring at Black so intently it seemed he was trying to read his mind, "Why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless-"

Lupin's eyes suddenly widened, as though he was seeing something beyond Black, something none of the rest could see. "Unless he was the one. Unless you switched without telling me?"

Very slowly, his sunken gaze never leaving Lupin's face, Black nodded.

Lupin lowered his wand, stare fixed at Black. The Professor walked to Black's side, flung his arms wide, and embraced Black like a brother.

"I was watching the sky when I saw them. I saw you attack them, and I thought the worst," Lupin choked out in a thick voice. "Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive, Moony. Now man up. We've got unfinished business to take care of."

"Right. Of course." Lupin cleared his throat. He patted Harry on the shoulder as he moved past to see about Weasley. Harry took the opportunity to find his wand and hide it in his sleeve.

"Do you think I could have a look at the rat?" he said evenly.

"Why?" Weasley sounded very suspicious. "What's Scabbers got to do with it?"

"Everything," said Lupin. "Could I see him, please?"

Weasley hesitated, then put a hand inside his robes. Scabbers emerged, thrashing desperately; Weasley had to seize his long bald tail to stop him escaping.

Lupin moved closer to Weasley. He seemed to be holding his breath as he gazed intently at Scabbers.

"What?" Weasley said again, holding Scabbers close to him, looking scared. "What's my rat got to do with anything?"

"He's not a rat. He's a wizard. An Animagus."

"You're mental! Peter Pettigrew's dead!" Ron protested. "He killed him twelve years ago!" He pointed at Black, whose face twitched convulsively.

"I meant to," he growled, his yellow teeth bared, "but little Peter got the better of me. Not this time, though!"

Black made a grab at Scabbers; Weasley yelled with pain as Black's weight fell on his broken leg.

"Sirius! No!" Lupin yelled, launching himself forwards and dragging Black away from Weasley.

"You can't do it just like that! He needs to understand. We've got to explain. You've got to wait!"

"I did my waiting!" Black shrieked. "Twelve years of it! In Azkaban! We can explain afterwards!" Black still had one hand clawing the air as it tried to reach Scabbers, who was squealing like a piglet, scratching Weasley's face and neck as he tried to escape.

"He's got - a right - to know - everything!" Lupin panted, still trying to restrain Black. "Ron's kept him as a pet! There are parts of it even I don't understand, and Harry - you owe Harry the truth, Sirius!"

Black stopped struggling, though his hollowed eyes were still fixed on Scabbers, who was clamped tightly under Weasley's bitten, scratched, and bleeding hands.

"All right, then," Black said, without taking his eyes off the rat. "Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for."

"You're nutters, both of you," said Weasley shakily. "I've had enough of this. I'm off." He tried to heave himself up on his good leg, but Lupin raised his wand again, pointing it at Scabbers.

"You're going to hear me out, Weasley," he said quietly. "Just keep a tight hold on Peter while you listen."

"HE'S NOT PETER, HE'S SCABBERS!" Weasley yelled, trying to force the rat back into his front pocket, but Scabbers was fighting too hard; Weasley swayed and overbalanced and fell down onto the bed.

"There's one certain way to prove what really happened. Weasley, give me that rat."

"What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?" Weasley asked Lupin tensely.

"Force him to show himself," answered Lupin. "If he really is a rat, it won't hurt him."

Weasley hesitated. Then he held out the rat, and Lupin took him. Scabbers began to squeak without stopping, twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head.

"Ready, Sirius?"

The escaped criminal approached Lupin and the struggling rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seemed to be burning in his face.

"Together?" Lupin handed Weasley's wand to Black.

A flash of blue-white light erupted from both men's wands; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in mid-air, his small grey form twisting madly. Weasley yelled. The rat fell and hit the floor. There was another blinding flash of light, and then it was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upward from the ground, limbs were sprouting, and a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands.

He was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry. His thin, colourless hair was unkempt, and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. Something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes. He looked around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow. Harry saw his eyes dart to the door and back again.

"Well, hello, Peter," said Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends around him. "Long time, no see."

"S-Sirius! R-Remus!" Even Pettigrew's voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted toward the door. "My friends!"

Black's wand arm rose, but Lupin seized him around the wrist, gave him a warning look, and then turned again to Pettigrew.

His voice light and casual, Lupin said, "We've been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed."

"Remus," gasped Pettigrew, and Harry could see beads of sweat breaking out over his pasty face, "You don't believe it, do you? He tried to kill me, Remus!"

"So we've heard," said Lupin, more coldly. "I'd like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you'll be so kind. I must admit, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve years as a rat."

"Innocent, but scared!" squealed Pettigrew. "You-Know-Who's supporters were after me, because I put one of their best men in Azkaban - the spy, Sirius Black!"

Black's face contorted.

"How dare you!" he growled, sounding suddenly like the bear-sized dog he had been. "Lily and James only made you Secret Keeper because I suggested it! I thought it was the perfect plan. A bluff! Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they'd use a weak, talentless thing like you! It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters."

Pettigrew fell to his knees as though he'd been cut off. He shuffled forward, grovelling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying.

Black kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled. "There's enough filth on my robes without you touching them," said Black.

"Remus!" Pettigrew squeaked, turning to Lupin instead, writhing imploringly in front of him. "You can't believe this! Wouldn't Sirius have told you they'd changed the plan?"

"Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter," said Lupin. "I assume that's why you didn't tell me, Sirius?" he said casually over Pettigrew's head.

"Forgive me," Black asked simply.

"Old friend, there's nothing to forgive," said Lupin. "And will you, in turn, forgive me?"

"Of course. And now we must deal with the vermin. I've been looking forward to this for a very long time. It was the one happy thought the dementors couldn't take away from me. Will you join me?"

"Yes, I think so," said Lupin grimly.

"You wouldn't! You won't!" gasped Pettigrew. He was trembling uncontrollably, and turned his head slowly toward Harry.

"Harry! Harry, you look just like your father, just like James!"

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?" roared Black. "HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?"

"Harry," whispered Pettigrew, shuffling toward him, hands outstretched. "Harry, James wouldn't have wanted me killed. James would have understood, Harry. He would have shown me mercy."

"Because of you, he'll never know what James would have wanted!" Black roared as he and Lupin strode forward, seized Pettigrew's shoulders, and threw him backward onto the floor. He sat there, twitching with terror, staring up at them. "You sold Lily and James to Voldemort! Do you deny it?"

Pettigrew burst into tears. It was horrible to watch, like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor.

"Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord! You have no idea; the weapons he has you can't imagine! I was scared, Sirius! I was never brave like you and Remus and James! I never meant it to happen! He forced me! He would have killed me, Sirius! What would you have done?"

"Died!" roared Black. "I would have died rather than betray my friends!"

Harry understood that. Apparently in Gryffindor, as in Slytherin, you stuck by your friends.

Black and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, wands raised.

"And you should have realized," said Lupin quietly, "if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter."

"_Expelliarmus!_"

A new voice shouted the Disarming Charm. Harry's eyes snapped to the door, and he raised his own wand to guard Pettigrew. It was Professor Snape! Lupin's wand and Black's borrowed wand flew into the air, and Snape caught them neatly, one-handed. He strode into the room, pointing his wand straight between Black's eyes.

"Give me a reason," he breathed invitingly. "Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will."

Black fell silent. It would have been impossible to say which face showed more hatred.

"Oh, vengeance is sweet," Snape said with a smirk smarmy enough to grease a thousand sleds. "How I hoped I would be the one to catch you."

"Severus-" Lupin began, but Snape overrode him.

"I've told the headmaster again and again that you were helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your hideout."

"Brilliant, Snape," Black said. "You put your keen mind to the task and once again come to the wrong conclusion. Now if you'll excuse us, Remus and I have business to attend to."

"Severus, you're making a mistake," said Lupin urgently.

"Two more for Azkaban tonight," said Snape, his eyes now gleaming fanatically. "I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this. He was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin. A tame werewolf, imagine."

Wait, werewolf?

"Severus, don't be a fool!"

"He can't help it; it's habit by now," Black quipped, somehow finding something funny to say. "Why don't you go and play with your chemistry set?"

"Why don't I just kill you now? I could do it, you know, but why deny the dementors? They'll be so very pleased to see you, Black. Pleased enough to give you a little Kiss, I dare say. It's said to be unbearable to watch, but I'll do my best." Snape's voice was filled with satisfaction.

What little colour there was in Black's face left it.

"Professor, wait!" Harry interrupted.

"Potter, what are you doing here?"

"He's innocent! Peter Pettigrew is alive! This piece of vermin," he kicked at Pettigrew, "is the reason I have no parents."

Snape noticed for the first time the cowering man who trembled at the end of Harry's steady wand.

"Pettigrew," he said in a tone one might use to describe a grungy pair of old trainers. "You look well for a dead man.

"Severus, my old friend! You've come to rescue me!"

"Let's not be hasty."

"They were going to kill me!"

"Shut up!" Harry shouted, and he kicked Pettigrew in the back. "We'll take you back up to the castle."

"Harry!" gasped Pettigrew, and he flung his arms around Harry's knees. "You - thank you - it's more than I deserve - thank you -"

"Get off me," Harry spat, throwing Pettigrew's hands off him in disgust. He pointed his wand. "I'm going to hand you over to the dementors for the Kiss. _Petrificus totalis!_"

Pettigrew stiffened up like a statue and fell to the floor. Professor Snape shot thin cords from of his wand, and Pettigrew was also bound and gagged. "_Stupefy!_" he cast, and the Stunner rendered Pettigrew unconscious as well.

For a moment, no one spoke. There was no sound. Black stood there, staring at the man who had tricked everyone, had doomed him to twelve years of hellish torments in the castle prison of Azkaban. His thin chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Flickers of madness were dancing in his eyes.

Then Weasley let out a moan of pain.

"Right," said Lupin, suddenly businesslike. "Weasley, I can't mend bones nearly as well as Madam Pomfrey, so I think it's best if we just strap your leg up until we can get you to the hospital wing."

He hurried over to Weasley, bent down, tapped Weasley's leg with his wand, and muttered, "_Ferula_." Bandages spun up Weasley's leg, strapping it tightly to a splint. Lupin helped him to his feet; Weasley put his weight gingerly on the leg and didn't wince.

"That's better," he said. "Thanks."

"Severus, will you assist with Peter? If anyone can prevent the sneak from getting away, it's you."

Snape grunted at that compliment but muttered, "_Mobilicorpus_." As though invisible strings were tied to Pettigrew's wrists, neck, and knees, he was pulled into a standing position, head still rigidly locked in place. He hung a few inches above the ground, his hands frozen claws at his sides. Snape guided Pettigrew back down the stairs and into the tunnel. Weasley gampied along after him.

Black was looking around in amazement. "It's over," he said, not sounding as though he really believed it himself.

"You're free." Lupin said, just as quietly.

Black looked up at Harry. "Harry." He stepped closer. "My word, Moony, it's just like looking at Prongs."

"I know, Padfoot."

Prongs, Harry realized, must be his dad.

"Do you know what this means?" Black said to Harry. "Turning Pettigrew in, I mean?"

"You're free," said Harry.

"Yes," said Black. "But I'm also- I don't know if anyone ever told you, but I'm your godfather, Harry."

His godfather! Harry didn't know how many more shocks he could take tonight. He'd never imagined that he might have something like this.

"Your parents appointed me your guardian," said Black hesitantly. "If anything happened to them-"

Harry felt dazed. Did Black mean what he thought he meant?

"I'll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle," Black fumbled along. "But, well, think about it. Once my name's cleared, if you wanted a, a different home-"

Some sort of explosion took place in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"What, live with you?" he said.

"Of course, I thought you wouldn't want to," said Black quickly. "I understand, I just thought I'd-"

"Are you insane?" said Harry, his voice easily as croaky as Black's. "Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! I've never wanted anything else! Have you got a house? When can I move in?"

Black turned right around to look at him. "You want to?" he said. "You mean it?"

"Yeah, I mean it!" said Harry.

Black's gaunt face broke into the first true smile Harry had seen upon it. The difference it made was startling, as though a person ten years younger were shining through the starved mask.

to be continued...


	18. Setting Things To Rights

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Eighteen - Setting Things To Rights**

The two professors, the two students, and the escaped convict walked through the front gate of the castle escorting a floating, immobilized Death Eater. Needless to say, they were quite a sight as they came through the entrance hall.

A patrolling prefect had stopped to stare, and Snape immediately pointed his finger at her and snapped, "Brezinski!"

The sixth year Hufflepuff girl paled. "Sir?"

"Escort Weasley to the hospital wing immediately!"

"Sir!"

Snape led the strange procession directly to the gargoyle that guarded the stairwell to the headmaster's office. He spoke the password ("Treacle tart") and guided Pettigrew's body up the winding steps. He ignored the brass knocker and used Pettigrew's head instead.

"Gain admittance!" came the headmaster's cheerful voice.

Snape opened the door and walked in.

"Headmaster," he said. "There have been some rather startling developments in the past hour. Behold Peter Pettigrew."

He waved his wand and the traitor's body dropped heavily to the floor.

Dumbledore stood up slowly, his eyes wide. He stepped closer, and recognition dawned on his face. He looked at Snape, who motioned to the others with his jaw. They entered the office as well.

"Hello, Professor," Black rasped.

"Sirius!" Dumbledore looked ready to fall over.

"Yes."

"How?"

"It's a long story. There will time for it later. Summon the dementors! Peter Pettigrew must die!"

"Sirius, it can't be just like that."

"It was for me," Black spat with disgust. "My wand was snapped, and I was carted off to Azkaban without so much as a formal charge, so don't _tell_ me we have to observe the legal niceties! If you won't call them, I'll kill him myself."

"Forgive me, Sirius. This is all happening rather quickly. I must inform the Ministry."

Black snarled at the headmaster, but Dumbledore wasn't fazed. He kept that calm, wise look directed at the ragged man, and eventually Black threw himself in a chair in the corner.

"Make your calls."

Fawkes had been sleeping on his perch. His great, glorious plumage was sparkling, casting its own light from the shadowed enclave. As the chair thumped the wall, the bird peeked his head out from under his wing. His eyes settled on Sirius.

The phoenix threw back his head and sang out a single note, pure and beautiful, deep and joyous. He leaped off the perch, fluttered his wings, and landed solidly on Black's outstretched leg. Fawkes opened his beak and sang again, different notes, and the light from his plumage seemed to grow brighter.

The effect on Black was unmistakable. The haunted look on his face vanished, replaced by an expression of peace. Tears welled up in his eyes and trickled down the wan skin of his face. He heaved a deep sigh, and all the evil humours that had built up in his soul seemed to be expelled.

"Hello, Fawkes."

Fawkes trilled at him and jumped up to his shoulder. He sat there, perfectly content, and he continued to sing quietly.

"I'd say that about proves it, Professor," Lupin said, speaking at last. "All things considered."

"So it does," Dumbledore agreed. He threw a pinch of powder into the fireplace and knelt down to stick his head into the flames. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Em El Eey," came a woman's voice through the Floo.

"This is Dumbledore. Let me speak with Director Bones."

"One moment."

And Harry would have sworn he heard elevator music playing through the crackling flames.

"Dumbledore?"

"Amelia, good. What I am about to tell you may sound rather strange."

"As opposed to any of the other things you've said that are perfectly normal, Professor?" There was a laugh rippling below the surface of her words.

"Believe me, Amelia, I am in most sincere earnest. I need you to listen to all I have to say before you begin reacting."

"Go ahead."

"Sirius Black just walked into my office."

"What!"

"Amelia!"

"Sorry."

"He was accompanied by Professor Snape and Professor Lupin, and the three of them have laid Peter Pettigrew on my floor."

"Pettigrew!"

"He is alive and restrained. It would appear that he has been living the life of a fugitive. I believe it highly likely that he was and or is a Death Eater."

Director Bones was silent for a moment. "This is a mess, Dumbledore. I'd better come myself."

"I shall see you shortly, then."

Dumbledore extricated himself from the fireplace and stood up. "Never fear, Sirius. We'll straighten this all out. I give you my word."

Lost in phoenix song, Black didn't answer.

"Now then, would someone please tell me what happened tonight?"

Harry spoke first. He summarized the tale, glossing certain bits over, such as how he'd gotten the map that had revealed the truth, and heaping praise on Lupin and Snape for coming to his rescue.

"Very well, Harry. That will do for now. Remus? Perhaps you would care to elaborate?"

Professor Lupin cleared his throat. "I was watching the sky, thinking about how much I hate the moon, when I chanced to look down toward the grounds where I saw a giant dog attacking Ron and Harry. I recognized Sirius immediately and ran for the gate. I encountered Professor Snape, who was bringing me the Wolfsbane Potion. I guzzled the stuff and hurried on my way."

"And then, Severus?"

"I puzzled over Professor Lupin's expeditious exit for a time. I had my suspicions as to what he was up to, but I could not follow him to confirm, as I was immediately taken up by another matter. When I was free to pursue him, I tracked him with the help of the portraits. I was fortunate enough to glimpse him ducking into the secret tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow. It took me several minutes to find the precise knot to freeze the branches, but I eventually made my way to the Shrieking Shack. The rest you know."

There came a knock on the door.

"Cross the threshold!"

The door opened to admit a tall witch wearing grey robes. Her greying hair was cut to jaw-length, and she had a stern look to her. She took in the whole room with a single gaze. Her hard and piercing eyes settled on Black, and Harry was reminded very much of Professor McGonagall. The effect was aided by her thick eyebrows and imposing monocle.

Then she noticed the phoenix perched on his shoulder and how Black had his head tipped back in seeming bliss. Director Bones suddenly didn't look so sure of herself. She glanced down to study the man immobile on the floor.

"Yes, that's Pettigrew. Cor, what a jumble. Dumbledore, do I dare ask what Harry Potter is doing here?"

"You can ask," Harry answered for himself, giving the director an insolent stare.

"Very well. Mister Potter, what are you doing here?"

"Making sure that the wizard who betrayed my parents to Voldemort," and she flinched slightly at the name, "doesn't escape justice."

"Pettigrew was working for You-Know-Who?"

"Yes. He was the secret Secret Keeper when my parents went into hiding. Sirius Black was a decoy."

"But Pettigrew was a spy," Black spoke up. Years and horrors seemed to have dropped from his face. Even his voice sounded more normal. "He sold James and Lily to Voldemort. I went after him, and I was going to kill him, but he blew up the street and faked his own demise."

"Hold up," the director said, pulling out a scroll of parchment and a quill from her pocket. "Dumbledore- ah, thank you." She dipped the quill in the proffered ink and scribbled something briefly. "Tell me the story as it happened."

Together, in bits and pieces and with many questions, Lupin and Black filled Director Bones in on the whole story. Voldemort had targeted the Potters. They went into hiding under the Fidelius Charm. Black had been the decoy; Pettigrew had been the true Secret Keeper. But Pettigrew had already turned traitor, undermining efforts to fight Voldemort - both Lupin and Black used his name - and had betrayed the Potters instantly.

"When I heard the news, my clever little scheme tasted like ashes." Black was stroking Fawkes as he spoke, the phoenix preening under the attention. "I got on my, er- broom, and headed for Godric's Hollow. I got there just as Hagrid was coming out of the ruins of the house with Harry in his arms. 'Give Harry to me, Hagrid. I'm his godfather. I'll look after him. It was what James and Lily wanted.'

"He said he had orders from Professor Dumbledore and that Harry was to go live with Lily's sister Petunia. I didn't have time to argue with him about it, and I knew Harry would be safe with Hagrid until I tracked down Peter. So I gave him my, er- broom and Apparated to one of Peter's usual dives.

"I found him." Black's voice was heavy. "But before I could do anything, he framed me and blew up the street. When the Aurors came to take me away, I was laughing at how very stupid we'd all been."

"The rest, I think we know," Professor Dumbledore said. "Amelia? Have you heard enough?"

Director Bones shook her head in amazement. "And I thought I knew some good fairy tales," she murmured. "Very well, Black. On my authority as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, I declare you innocent of all criminal charges."

Black gave another great sigh. "Thank you, Director."

"We'll see about proper rewards and recompense at a later time."

"Dreams of vindication kept me sane, Director."

"Yes, well," and here Director Bones seemed very uncomfortable. "As to the Death Eater, I see no reason why he should not receive the Kiss immediately. I will go collect one of the dementors."

"I told you once, Amelia, that no dementor will enter this castle while I still draw breath." Dumbledore's reminder was completely matter-of-fact. "If Pettigrew is to be Kissed, then you will have to deliver him to them."

Director Bones gave an exasperated sigh. "Very well, Headmaster. She drew her wand and pointed it at Pettigrew's prone form. He rose into the air like a marionette. Black rose instantly to his feet.

"I'll come with you."

"As will I," Lupin agreed.

"And me," Harry added fiercely.

"I will not allow a thirteen year old wizard to witness the Dementor's Kiss!" The old witch seemed shocked to the core.

"So try and stop me."

Director Bones seemed unnerved by Harry's matter-of-fact declaration. She seemingly hadn't realized that a thirteen-year-old wizard might have opinions too. She studied Harry for a moment, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"I recommend letting Mister Potter go, Director," Snape advised. "Otherwise he's apt to do the deed himself right now just to be certain."

Snape was completely correct.

Director Bones thought about it. "I suppose it is your right," she said reluctantly. "Though it's terrible beyond description."

"I'll do my best," Harry declared.

"Be it on your own head. Let's go."

Down the stairs they proceeded again. Outside the gargoyle, they were joined by two big lads who could only be Aurors. They drew their wands immediately upon seeing Black, but Director Bones intervened.

"Stop! I have declared Black to be innocent. I now order you to guard the Death Eater Peter Pettigrew."

If the Aurors were confused, they didn't let it show. They obeyed their order at once, training their wands on Pettigrew, whose petrification was starting to wear off.

Through the hallways, down the stairs, across the entrance hall, out the front gate, and along the path they went. As they approached the entrance to the grounds, Harry heard the familiar screaming start in his head. He ignored it. Soon the screams would be gone; the traitor's punishment would avenge them - at least a little bit.

The dementors guarding the gate turned as the party approached. The Aurors took control of Pettigrew and conjured chains to hold him against one of the great boulders that dotted the grounds. Dumbledore waved his hand at the gates, and they swung open on silent hinges.

"Dementors!" Director Bones spoke with a note of command in her voice. "Under my authority as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, I hereby rescind all orders concerning Sirius Black. His innocence has been proven. Furthermore, I release you to perform the Kiss on Peter Pettigrew."

The dementor followed her pointing finger to the pitiful wizard in chains. It glided closer. Pettigrew was awake now. The dementor raised up scabby, decaying hands and lowered its hood. Harry gave thanks to Merlin that he could only see the back of it. It grabbed Pettigrew's face with both hands, ignoring his terrified squealing, and lowered its head.

There was the most awful silence. Time seemed to stand still. It was truly as Harry had been warned, unbearable to watch. He felt like he was going to be sick, but he resolutely stood his ground. _Justice_, he repeated over and over in his mind, the word drowning out the screams of his mother and the shouts of his father.

Then the dementor stood back, raised its hood, and glided away. It joined its brother and they departed.

Pettigrew was no longer afraid. He wasn't anything. He stood there, chained to the boulder, staring vacantly at nothing. It was worse than looking at a dead body; the eyes saw, but there was no light in them.

"It is done," Black said with evident satisfaction.

"Done." Lupin seemed sad, but his voice was no softer than Black's.

"Done." Harry said, because everybody else had used the word. It felt right, felt complete.

Professor Dumbledore and Director Bones were talking quietly to the side. They had not watched the Kiss. Director Bones was nodding.

"Very good, then." Bones looked at Black. "Mister Black, the word of your innocence will be disseminated to the corners of the world by moonset." She took Pettigrew's arm and guided him outside the gates to the grounds. With a slight pop, she Disapparated with his empty shell.

"Moonset?" Lupin sounded suddenly panicked. "Moonrise!"

"Not for a short while yet," Dumbledore informed him. "But you'd better not wait any longer. At once to your office with you."

Black crouched down to be on Harry's level. "I've got to go with Moony right now, Harry. That's also a long story, and I promise to tell you all about it. When's the next Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Er, not til after exams."

"Well, that's a bit longer than I'd like, but I suppose I must take the time to get my affairs in order. If you're really going to come live with me, that is."

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Black?" Harry wasn't sure how he was asking the question. It just rolled over his lips.

"Hardly, Harry. And it's Sirius. Or Padfoot. But I have to go now. Find me in the Hog's Head Inn when you visit Hogsmeade. Good luck on exams!"

Lupin and Black - er, Sirius - headed back to the castle at a hurried pace.

"Severus, has he had your potion tonight?"

"Yes, Headmaster. As I said earlier, I delivered it shortly following dinner."

"Ah yes. I had forgotten. Well, we had best get back up to the castle, I think. There's little point in standing around. Unless, of course, anyone wants to watch the full moon rise."

"Not really up for it," Harry declined, still a little staggered. He was flush with satisfaction and wanted to share it with his friends.

"Ah. Well, on your way, then, Mister Potter. Severus, do stay a moment."

"Good night, Mister Potter."

"Good night, sirs."

Harry was alone as he headed back to the castle. It gave him plenty of time to dwell on the night's events.

He never had to even think about going back to Privet Drive! Though he'd sworn never to be dragged back, Harry felt the shadow of fear slip away from him. It was impossible for anyone to force him. He was going to live with his godfather.

Godfather! Harry had considered himself alone in the world growing up, never knowing what it was about him that made the Dursleys dislike him so. He'd wanted to be like other kids, and he'd found wizarding children whom he was like. But he still had no family, no relatives he could tell funny stories about like his friends often did.

Harry had seen the name Potter on the Black family tree, so he had very distant cousins. It wasn't the same. But a godfather, now that was immediate, concrete family. And in a way it was even better than family, because Sirius had _chosen_ to accept that role. He'd wanted it.

Wanted. For most of his life, nobody had wanted Harry. That was over. Done. He felt like he'd had a hundred Cheering Charms cast on him. He was going to live with Sirius.

That thought buoyed Harry's spirits as he made his way through the dungeons and back to the common room where he was immediately tackled by Blaise and the others demanding to know where he'd gone.

Blaise was sobbing into his shoulder, and he put his arms awkwardly around her to try and comfort her. He didn't know what to say; in his eagerness to rush off after Weasley, he'd completely forgotten about his friends.

In a quiet corner of the common room, Harry sat with his friends and relayed his adventure. They listened with rapt attention as Harry told the story with style, talking softly in the dramatic parts and waving his arms during the exciting bits. When he was finally done, Harry shared the best of it all.

"And I found out Sirius is my godfather."

His friends all gasped in amazement.

"He's my legal guardian, and I'm going to live with him after the year is over."

"Brilliant!" Draco shouted.

"Tally!" Millie echoed.

"Bloody marvellous," Tim agreed.

"I never have to even think about those ruddy Muggles ever again."

"Truly prodigious, Harry," Blaise said.

"Nothing is going to keep us from spending lots of time together this summer."

"Quidditch every day at Malfoy Manor," Draco suggested. "Outstanding."

"You boys and your Quidditch," Jenna giggled.

"I like Quidditch!" Millie objected.

"Well you're practically one of the boys."

"Thank you."

"Then we all came back to the castle. Snape led us up to Dumbledore's office, we told him the whole story, and he called Director Bones of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She came, and her Aurors took Pettigrew down to the dementors."

Harry paused. All of his friends were leaning in eagerly to hear his words.

"Come on," Draco urged. "What happened then?"

"It did the Dementor's Kiss," Harry said softly. The memory rose up in front of him, and he choked back bile as his stomach heaved.

His friends all gasped.

"It did the Dementor's Kiss," Harry repeated, this time with more feeling. "And I watched it."

Pansy screamed. Harry jumped in his skin at the piercing cry. She fell back in her chair, her eyes unreadable as she stared at Harry.

"By Merlin," Tim swore reverently. "Harry, you've got a set of _stones_, mate."

Draco was watching him with a sudden calculating look in his eye. "What was it like?"

Harry shivered, though the room was warm. "The traitor got what he deserved."

"Come on, Harry," Draco cajoled. "Tell us."

"It was unbearable to watch." And he said no more.

His friends respected his silence and inquired no further. Easing the mood a bit, Crabbe cleared his throat.

"So what then?"

"They just left. Gone back to Azkaban, I suppose. Director Bones took Pettigrew to wherever it is they take people like him. Then something very strange happened." Harry took a deep breath. "Professor Lupin is a werewolf."

"What?"

"A werewolf."

"Impossible! They're not allowed to hold important jobs!" Draco said.

"They're dangerous creatures, they are," Goyle chimed in. "My dad says they all should be wiped out."

"Mine too," Crabbe said. "They're right monsters."

"Professor Lupin isn't a monster!" Harry shouted. "He came to save me tonight, from a man he believed to be Voldemort's right hand! He risked his life. Monsters don't understand sacrifice, Goyle."

"It's a disease," Tim contributed. "My father says it's passed on through the bite, the bodily fluids."

"It's a condition," Harry said, seizing upon Tim's words. "When it's not the full moon, he's fine."

"So he's only a monster three days out of the lunar cycle?" Crabbe asked. "Oh, that makes me feel better."

"Shut up, fathead," Harry ordered. "How many times have I heard you say Lupin was fantastic? You can't suddenly say he was rubbish because he's a werewolf!"

"Well of course he knows his Dark Arts," Goyle argued. "Werewolves are Dark creatures, they are."

"You shut up, too!" Harry was incensed. Lupin was the best they'd ever had. He had helped Harry immensely this year, had been one of his dad's best friends.

"Someone had to know about this," Pansy declared. "I can't believe this has been kept a secret from us."

"Professor Snape knew. He was trying to tell us when he assigned the essay on werewolves." Harry was impressed once more with how sneaky Snape could be.

"The one he said he'd assigned as punishment to the other classes and decided to let us do for extra credit?" Blaise asked.

"Yeah."

"How come nobody figured it out?" Blaise asked. "It all makes perfect sense now. Lupin's boggart is the full moon."

"Of course!" Tim exclaimed. "And he missed a few classes every month! It must have been for the full moon!"

"There's a full moon tonight," Crabbe volunteered.

"And he went to his office, just like he must've done every full moon." Harry confirmed. "Sirius went with him and said there was a long story behind it. He promised to tell me later. Then Dumbledore suggested we head back, but he wanted to talk to Snape, so I walked back up by myself, and here we are."

Tim leaned back in his chair and whistled in admiration or amazement, Harry wasn't sure which. It amounted to the same thing.

"Incredible, Harry, truly incredible."

Draco was in agreement. "It's stranger than fiction."

"Will you two idiots stop congratulating him?" Blaise asked in a tone that could have dissolved the stone walls around them. "Harry, you could have been killed!"

"How?"

"What if Black really had been the traitor?" she demanded. "He would have killed you!"

"He would have killed me on Magnolia Crescent," Harry said, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand.

"But you didn't know that then."

"Then I would have been saved by Professor Lupin. I could have kept him talking long enough."

Blaise shook her head. "You are such a Gryffindor."

"Hey!"

"She's got a point, Harry," Jenna chimed in. "Would it have killed you to say something to one of us?"

"Fine, and then _you_ could have gotten your leg broken being dragged into a tunnel by a dog the size of a pony instead of Weasley."

"We've faced dogs before, you and I," Draco pointed out, buffing his nails obnoxiously.

"Completely different," Tim objected.

"Going into the face of certain death?" Blaise shot back.

"I'm not a Gryffindor," Harry told her. "Take it back."

"So charging headlong into hell without heed is suddenly the intelligent, crafty, clever, Slytherin thing to do?" she scoffed.

"But it was about paying a debt," Draco said seriously, no smirk on his face. "A debt of blood. Right, Harry?"

"Right." Harry emphasized his response with a sharp nod. "I thought Black had betrayed my family, so I was going to kill him. Then it turned out to be Pettigrew, and I would have killed him if the dementors hadn't gotten him."

"I," Crabbe declared, "am very happy to hear that they are gone."

And he was not alone. As news of the dementors' departure spread through the castle, the mood improved almost palpably. The announcement of the restoration of Hogsmeade visits was no doubt the source of much of the joy.

The headline of the _Daily Prophet_ in the morning trumpeted Sirius Black's innocence for all to read. There was a picture of Sirius shaking hands with the Minister of Magic. The whole front page was filled with stories about his wrongful conviction and Pettigrew's secret support for You-Know-Who.

The full story of what had gone on in the Shrieking Shack was full public knowledge. Professor Lupin's role in the affair could not be concealed, and the news that a werewolf was teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts sparked a public outrage. It was so ugly and severe that Lupin was forced to tender his resignation, which Harry regarded as patently unfair. Lupin had been the best Defence teacher they'd yet had - well, except for Professor Snape; Snape was great at everything.

Exams came and went with no fuss. In Transfiguration, they had to change a teapot into a tortoise. Flitwick had them cast Cheering Charms on each other, which some of them needed after the Transfiguration practical. Professor Snape's written exam involved a lot a brain power, but the practical, brewing a Camouflage Potion, was simplicity in itself.

Arithmancy was, in Harry's opinion, a piece of cake. He grinned as his friends all complained about the sheer rote memorization they'd needed. Crabbe and Pansy were similarly smug about Astronomy when it came out that the comet they'd been asked to locate for their homework _last summer_ had been the Perseids meteor shower. They had discussed Geminids, not Perseids, but Harry swore it was evil to put it on the exam.

When the Hogsmeade weekend finally arrived, Harry was the first student waiting in line at the castle gate to get to the village. By the time Filch arrived, sour-faced and miserable, Harry had been waiting for nearly an hour.

"I should've gone out one of the secret passages," he complained to Draco as they walked down the path. He'd seen several marked on the Marauders' Map that led to Hogsmeade.

"Why didn't you think of that an hour ago?" Draco asked moodily. He'd been woken up by Harry very early and was still grouchy.

"Nerves, I guess."

"Why? He's not really a murderer, after all."

"I know. It's just, well, he did spend twelve years in Azkaban. What do you say to someone like that?"

Draco shrugged. "I doubt he wants to talk about that. All you can do is look forward, right? Talk about the future. Just be yourself. If the rest of us can tolerate you, I think your godfather should be able to cope."

"Thanks heaps."

"Hey, it's what I'm here for."

When they reached the Hog's Head Inn, Harry stared at the door in apprehension for a long moment.

"Wish me luck."

"Good luck, mate. We'll meet you in the Three Broomsticks for tea."

A worn-out wooden sign hung over the door. A boar's severed head leaked blood onto the white cloth around it. The paint on the sign was chipped and faded.

Harry opened the door and peered into the murky dark. The windows were so grimy and dusty that only the faintest hint of sunlight was allowed to enter.

As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the small bar, which was filthy and strewn with sawdust. A rickety wooden staircase led up to what appeared to be a sitting room. The floor was so dirty he couldn't even tell if there _was_ floor. The whole place smelled strongly of goats.

There was no bartender behind the bar, but a dirty glass floated in the air being wiped out by an even dirtier bar rag. Harry looked around and saw the lone figure stand up from the secluded corner booth.

"Harry!" Sirius Black said, his voice delighted, if still rusty.

He at last looked like a man, not a zombie. His ragged hair had been neatly trimmed, and his skin had regained some colour. It appeared he'd also eaten a few meals, because his cheeks had lost the sunken appearance. He had traded his prison rags for a smart set of plain black robes.

"Sirius," Harry greeted his godfather with a nod. He wasn't sure how demonstrative he should be.

"Please, sit, sit. Will you have anything?"

The dirty glasses fresh in his mind, Harry shook his head. Sirius retrieved a dusty bottle from behind the bar and placed it with a thump on the table. He reached into the pocket of his robes and drew out a wand.

"Brand new," Sirius said proudly. "Twelve inches, black birch, with a hair from the mane of a unicorn as the core."

"The mane?" Harry vaguely remembered Ollivander the wand maker mentioning that he used tail hairs.

"Yes, highly unusual, Ollivander said. He was determined I should have it, though. The wand chooses the wizard, you know."

"So he said."

"_Scourgify!_" Sirius incanted, pointing his wand at the bottle. The accumulated dust and grime of only Merlin knew how many years was scoured away in an instant. With another spell, the bottle uncorked itself.

"To us, Harry," he toasted. He took a long pull off the bottle, gasping for air when he was done. Wordlessly, he offered the bottle to Harry.

Harry generally did not approve of drinking. He'd seen Hagrid drinking and drunk a number of times. Sometimes his friends' parents would have wine with a meal, but generally they were sober. He started to refuse, but then reconsidered. It might help him bond with his new guardian.

So Harry took the bottle and raised it to his lips for a small sip. Seconds later, his throat rejected the beverage, spraying it all over the table as he coughed uncontrollably. Between spasms, all he could think was how much like a kid he must look.

But Sirius wasn't laughing at him. He whacked Harry on the back to get him breathing right again, and he summoned a glass from the bar, cleaned it, and filled it with an uttered, "_Aquamenti!_"

Harry sipped at the water, willing his throat to be normal. He nodded his thanks, not trusting himself to speak yet.

"Now that was a waste of some truly fine aged firewhiskey," Sirius said jokingly.

Harry laughed. He couldn't help himself. He was laughing at himself as much as at Sirius' remark. "Sorry."

"I guess it's a good thing you weren't able to just take that," Sirius said reflectively. "Never mind. I'll just drink your share. I haven't had a drink in over twelve years, and I'd say I'm entitled to a few."

That _did_ seem only fair.

"So how did exams go?"

"Very well. I'm hoping for top marks in Arithmancy, Defence, and History of Magic."

"History?" Sirius was startled.

"I've studied hard this year."

"But History?"

"I've got a lot to learn about the wizarding world," Harry said simply. "It's my heritage, after all."

"It's a wonderful place," Sirius declared. "There's a lot of ugly, but there's a lot of beautiful as well. I'm speaking of witches, now."

Harry let out a startled laugh.

"Have you discovered witches yet, Harry?"

Do what now? "Huh?"

"You're thirteen now, nearly fourteen. Have you kissed a girl yet?"

"Are you honestly saying the first thing you want to talk about is do I have a girlfriend?" Harry was incredulous.

"Not the first thing," Sirius objected with a grin. "We talked about your exams."

Well, he had a point. "But you immediately brought up witches."

"So it's the second thing."

"If you must know, I have." Harry felt strangely more grown-up saying it.

"Good on you, Harry! The prettiest girl in school?"

"Blaise is pretty, yeah. Not the school, but definitely in Slytherin."

Sirius shook his head. "I can't believe you're in Slytherin. I saw the cloak that first night and nearly tripped over the curb. I was in Gryffindor. We all were."

"Yeah, I've heard."

I've been in communication with Dumbledore, and he tells me you've had quite a few adventures worthy of a Gryffindor," Sirius insinuated slyly. "Battling giant chess pieces? Chasing a single key out of thousands on a broom? _Slaying_ a basilisk? Trolls?"

"It must be in my blood."

Now Sirius laughed sharply. "Yes, your mother was a Gryffindor too. I guess that's why Slytherin doesn't make sense. These things are often hereditary, though it wasn't in my case."

Harry hesitated a moment before asking, "Does it bother you that I'm in Slytherin?"

Sirius shook his head. "It did at first, and I spent hours pondering how it could have happened. My final conclusion on the matter is that it doesn't matter. Not to me. Your father joked with me about what I would do if you did get sorted to Slytherin, and I used to get hot about it, but it doesn't matter. So long as you're alive, I would be happy to see you in Hufflepuff. Just don't be one of those evil Slytherins."

"Slytherins aren't evil. We're just misunderstood. I've got a few strong ambitions," Harry said by way of answer. "Namely, seeing my parents avenged."

Sirius was silent for a long, introspective moment. "Yes, I suppose I do understand at that," he said finally. "Well, one part of it has been done. Peter is no more."

"Yes."

"How do you feel about it? Does it help?"

Harry thought for a second. "It needed to be done. It was justice. It doesn't help me miss them any less, but I haven't had a nightmare since that night. I'll accept that."

"That's very wise, Harry. And unexpected in a thirteen year old wizard."

"I'm not the average thirteen year old wizard. I'm not bragging about it, but there it is. I survived the Killing Curse and almost destroyed the most feared wizard since Grindelwald."

Sirius nodded, his eyes showing understanding. "Almost, you said."

"I'm going to finish it. I don't know how yet, but I'm going to figure it out. He tried to return two years ago, but I stopped him. I'll keep doing it, too."

Sirius leaned forward, a vicious gleam in his eye. "We'll finish it, you and I. If you're going to take on Voldemort, I'm with you. I'll always be there for you; it was my vow to James and Lily. They fought him too, as did I, in the last war. They defied him and were targeted. That's why I was going to be their Secret Keeper."

"But it was Peter."

Sirius growled in anger. "Harry, please forgive me. If I hadn't thought myself so clever, they'd still be alive. I never would have given them up. If they'd caught me, I'd probably still be being tortured right now."

Harry shivered slightly at the depth of emotion in Sirius' voice.

"And I'd do the same for you, Harry." Sirius wasn't blinking. "I would suffer unto death to protect you. I broke down in tears when James asked me to be your godfather. I was there when you were born. I stood over your cradle and swore a Vow."

Harry's vision had narrowed. All he saw was Sirius' face. His eyes were pools of darkness, pulling Harry in. "What sort of Vow?" he breathed.

"The Unbreakable Vow. It's very powerful magic, broken on pain of death. I swore to protect you, no matter the cost."

And he was still standing there. Harry felt blood rushing to his head. He was short of breath. He groped for his glass of water and took a sip.

"I wouldn't _want_ to die, of course," Sirius said, suddenly changing his tone. He winked at Harry. "There's too much living to do!"

Harry smiled in relief as the tension vanished. "We've got a future to plan."

"Too right, we do. The papers making me your guardian were signed years ago, and are probably in your Gringotts vault. My innocence has been confirmed with a very nice letter of apology from the Minister, written by his secretary, I'm sure. What do you say I pick you up at King's Cross station?"

"Sounds good. Then where?"

"I've got a house," Sirius said, not sounding pleased with it. "It's the family manor, actually, but it's not the nicest place."

"A not nice manor?"

"It's been empty for years, but it was never nice." Sirius stared at the table intently. "Maybe you and I can give the place some happy memories, eh?"

"I hope so," Harry said sincerely.

"It's a bloody mess, but a few good charms ought to clean it up properly. I haven't had time yet. You're good at Charms, right?"

"I do okay."

"Well, you'll get lots of practice with Scourgify, I guarantee that."

"I'd rather use magic than do it by hand."

"By hand," Sirius repeated with a shudder. "Perish the thought. There are no Monitoring Charms on the house, so I fully expect you to pull your weight."

"I will. I'm used to hard work."

"What do you mean?"

Harry told Sirius about the Dursleys and how they'd mistreated him. As he progressed through each tale of abuse and neglect, Sirius grew more and more agitated.

"Bastards!" he swore. "Harry, I'm sorry. I should never have let Hagrid take you off to that fate."

"I'm alive, aren't I?" Harry asked rhetorically. "You could hardly take me with you to an execution. I only wish you'd gotten a fair trial instead of being railroaded like that."

Sirius grunted. "As a result of pending litigation against the Ministry, I will soon be adding more gross amounts of money to the family vaults at Gringotts. My father would be so proud." From his tone of voice, he sounded disgusted with the idea.

"Can it really bring back what they took away from you?" Harry asked. "Why'd you do it? Why'd you wait? What kept you from breaking out of there for twelve years? Why didn't you come-"

"Because there was no way to prove my story. Veritaserum was still experimental in those days, so it was just my word, which was not good for much thanks to public opinion. When the witnesses who heard Peter's lies repeated them for the authorities, I knew there was no chance.

"I wanted to get to you, Harry, by Merlin I did. But if I went to you, I would endanger you, and I had Vowed to protect you from harm." He laughed shortly. "It wasn't too bad. I had a meal every day, and for the rest I slept a lot. Slept like a dog, I must say."

"I can't imagine why."

"That's one of my little secrets that's out, now. Part of clearing my name required that I detail precisely how I escaped from Azkaban," Sirius said. "I was an illegal Animagus, as were your father and Peter, Wormtail. The dementors didn't affect me nearly so much when I was in my other form. That and knowing with absolute certainty that I was innocent allowed me to keep my sanity when the screams of the damned echoed around me."

"But it still must have been horrible," Harry breathed.

"Beyond description." Sirius drew a shuddering breath. "Let's talk about something else, please?"

"Did you have to register?"

"Yes. When the Director of Em El Eey knows you're not on the list, she tends to disapprove.

"I think it's really great," Harry exclaimed, suddenly feeling the urge to speak his mind. "My dad was one too? When did you figure it out? And why?"

"We figured it out so we could keep Moony company during his transformations. His curse doesn't affect animals, so we studied in secret and worked in private until Prongs and I got it at last in fifth year. After that, we were always with him."

"Maybe I'd better study my Transfiguration more," Harry suggested lightly.

"I'm sure I can answer any questions you might have," Sirius replied with a twinkle in his eye.

"I've got a gift of my own, you know." Harry needed to share something, and comparing a magical skill seemed appropriate. "One time the Dursleys got stuck taking me to the zoo. In the Reptile House, I could understand what this boa constrictor was saying. He could understand me, too."

"You were talking to a boa constrictor?"

"Yes. I'm a Parselmouth." Harry said it proudly, for his gift had let him defeat Tom Riddle and rescue Ginny Weasley.

"That gift has a Dark reputation, Harry."

"I know. But it's not true for me. I want to destroy a Dark wizard. It saved my life, actually, against the basilisk. I didn't tell Dumbledore what really happened." Harry was practically whispering now. "Riddle was ordering the basilisk around, but I started talking to her, and she turned on him. She helped me destroy the diary and get out of the Chamber of Secrets."

"It's still alive?" Sirius choked. "Harry!"

"She's gone back into hibernation. I told her she must never kill anyone ever again. Riddle made her kill a girl in my form; Hermione Granger."

"Was she your friend?" Sirius asked gently.

"No. She was a prissy, Muggleborn, know-it-all who thought it was proper to gawk at me on the train." Harry frowned as he remembered all the times he and his friends had picked on her. "But she didn't deserve what she got. If Weasley had gotten it, I might say different, but Granger was just very enthusiastic about everything magical."

"Death is seldom deserved. If you truly control this basilisk, it is your responsibility to make sure it doesn't kill anyone else." Sirius' voice was stern.

"I know. But Eithne is really nice. She doesn't kill for sport; she's just trying to eat. If she just eats deer in the forest or something, she'll be harmless."

"A harmless basilisk," Sirius iterated sardonically.

"That's right."

"Okay then."

Harry and Sirius passed the morning in the booth of the dirty tavern. The bartender came in eventually and seemed unsurprised to see two customers already drinking; Harry had relented and cleaned off a dusty bottle of butterbeer to keep his throat from getting parched.

All too quickly, it was tea time. Harry glanced down at his watch out of habit and groaned as he saw the hour.

"I told my friends I'd meet them in the Three Broomsticks for tea."

"Well, you can't keep your friends waiting," Sirius declared. "Harry, I have enjoyed this. Thank you."

"Why don't you come with me?" Harry invited. "They're very nice lads and ladies."

"Well," Sirius hesitated, "if you're sure."

"Let's go."

As they turned back onto High Street, Harry caught sight of three Ravenclaws exiting Scrivenshaft's and waved hello.

"Wotcher, Ravenclaws!"

"Wotcher, Harry!" Terry Boot called back. Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst both waved. The threesome consulted for a moment then crossed the lane.

"What on earth are you doing in there? Exams are over, you know."

Terry shrugged helplessly. "I got dragged."

"I hardly call, 'Hey, let's hit the quill store' being dragged, you bally liar," Mandy said, pulling her thick black hair back into a ponytail.

"Who said she had a few things she wanted to pick up too?" Terry shot back without batting an eye. "You, wasn't it?"

"That's different. I was taking advantage of going in to do some shopping so I can save time in Diagon Alley later this summer."

"Smart," Harry said. "I'd like you all to meet my godfather, Sirius Black."

All three Ravenclaws took a half-step back. Sirius smiled widely, trying to look friendly.

"He's innocent," Harry added immediately. "Declared by the Minister."

"I apologize, Mister Black," Padma said immediately. "An instinctive response."

"It's all right, children. I've been dealing with far worse for two weeks now."

"Padma Patil, Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst," Harry said, introducing each in turn. "Very tally Ravenclaws in my form."

"A pleasure," Sirius said.

Harry instantly decided to invite the trio. "We're just on to the Three Broomsticks to meet the others. Would you care to come?"

"Can't," Terry declined. "Gotta start packing. I've got too much stuff and too little luggage."

"Mandy?"

"Love to, Harry, but I told Terry I'd help him. We girls are experts at packing, you know."

"Padma?"

"I would," Padma said regretfully, "but I'm late to meet Parvati. I'd bring her, but Pansy's going to be there."

"This is true."

"Maybe another time, though."

"Good-bye, Mister Black," Terry said.

"Good-bye!"

"Good-bye, children."

"_That_ was the prettiest girl in school," Harry observed.

"Very pretty. Why didn't you kiss her?"

"Kissing Blaise was enough." And Jenna; and Laine.

Sirius opened the door of the tavern and stepped inside. In an instant, all conversation ground to a halt. Every eye stared at the man who had so recently been the most feared wizard in the wizarding world.

He handled it well. His expression mild, he met every eye. He sauntered up to the bar to the wide-eyed Madam Rosmerta.

"Hello, Rosie. Get us a couple of butterbeers, will you, love?"

Hesitantly, Madam Rosmerta pulled two bottles from under the bar. With practised ease, she removed the caps and passed the beverages over. Sirius dropped a few coins on the bar, winked at her, and handed Harry one of the bottles.

"To your health, good people," Sirius said loudly, raising his bottle in salute to the crowd. He tipped it up, and Harry watched his Adam's apple moving up and down as he chugged the butterbeer down. He slammed the empty bottle down on the bar with a thump.

"Where are these friends of yours?"

As noise returned to the pub, Harry saw Draco waving from the far booth. He was sitting with Tim, Pansy, and Jenna. They all squeezed closer together to give Harry and Sirius room to sit.

"Hello, cousin," Draco said to Sirius. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Narcissa's boy?"

Draco nodded.

"Nice to meet you, cousin."

Harry made the introductions, and Sirius thought it was very nice to meet them all. His godfather asked about classes and exams, and asked about best subjects. He was pleasantly surprised when they all agreed that Professor Lupin had been the bees' knees. And of course they all lauded Professor Snape, to which Sirius made non-committal responses.

"I take it you all love Quidditch?" he asked, changing the subject with a slight smile.

"We love Quidditch!" Tim and the others said together.

"I understand Slytherin has quite a Seeker," Sirius hinted broadly. "Trotter, or something?"

Harry laughed. "I was going to mention it eventually. I got on the team in first year, youngest Seeker in a century."

"Your dad would have been proud of that," Sirius shared. "He played Chaser himself in our day. Giving Slytherin hell, I might add."

Tim loudly began to recite Slytherin Quidditch statistics from the past hundred years. Sirius punctured all of his windy pomposity with specific humiliating (for Slytherin) incidents in Quidditch matches from James Potter's and Sirius Black's "Days of Glory," as he termed them.

James and Sirius had both played Chaser, though Sirius made the team only towards the latter years of school. Tim immediately started grilling him on Chaser tactics and started arguing with him. It was Pansy, strangely enough, who told Tim to stop acting like an arse and let Sirius tell his stories.

All too soon, it was time for dinner, and Harry regretfully stood up from the booth. He winced as pins and needles shot through his legs.

"I'll be right there," Harry said to his friends as they headed to the door.

"Good night, all," Sirius said with a wave. "All of Harry's friends are welcome at Grimmauld Place this summer. I hope to see you."

Harry had wanted to say farewell to his godfather in private. Now that the blokes weren't around, he gave Sirius a strong hug. Sirius squeezed him tightly, and Harry felt a nebulous, general good feeling. With this feeling in him, Harry felt he could have cast a perfect Patronus.

"Be safe, Harry. I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Sirius. Not soon enough."

to be continued...


	19. The End and The Beginning

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Nineteen - The End and The Beginning**

It was less than a week until the Hogwarts Express would take them all back to London. Days were filled with lazing about. They played wizard chess or Gobstones or any of a number of games with the exploding cards. The lake was a popular destination for many students, and the Quidditch pitch was busy with pick-up matches from dawn until curfew.

At dinner one night, a note appeared on Harry's plate as he reached for the smashed potatoes. He noticed it only as he was about to serve himself a generous spoonful. He jerked the spoon sharply, and inadvertently deposited the potatoes on Draco's face.

Everyone else started laughing. Draco sat there in stunned stillness for a second. "You spongy, swag-bellied scullion!" he complained, wiping at his eyes. "What's the big idea?"

"Draco, that's a great new look," Jenna complimented brightly.

"Shut up, Moon. Somebody give me a napkin."

"There's no need to be rude, Draco," Pansy reproved with a haughty sniff. "You need to learn to relax."

"Oh please, show me how you relax with a face full of mashers." He grabbed another spoon and dunked it in the bowl and cocked his arm back. "Eh, Pansy?"

"The rest of your miserable life will be short and painful if you dare to keep that spoon aimed at me for longer than it takes me to finish promising you complete and utter devastation unless you lower your arm immediately."

Pansy's glare could have petrified a Muggle-born. Harry had trouble following exactly what she'd said, but Draco considered her for a moment and put the spoon back in the bowl.

"Napkin," he demanded.

"Sorry, Draco." Harry picked up the envelope and turned it over. There was only his name on the front. Harry opened the unsealed flap and pulled out the missive within.

__

Dear Harry,

Please drop by my office after dinner.

Professor Dumbledore

What could the Headmaster possibly want to see him about? Exams were over. They awaited only the results to declare the holiday official and return home.

"It's from Dumbledore," he said to Draco.

"What's he want?"

"Me to come by after dinner."

"Why?"

"He didn't say."

"Maybe you failed everything," Draco suggested.

Harry snorted. "Not possible. I've been keeping track, and I whip you all in Arithmancy and Defence."

"Maybe he thinks you ought to take Muggle Studies," offered Goyle. "Bole told me that in seventh year you get to do a dissection!"

"What would Bole know about Muggle Studies?" Tim asked scathingly. "He was having you on, Goyle."

"And why would Dumbledore think me learning to dissect Muggles was a good idea?" Harry asked, feeling most perplexed.

"Would you _please_ stop saying that word at the table?" Pansy asked, making an awful face. "You're so vulgar, Tim."

"Shut up, Pansy. I didn't say anything."

"You certainly did! You said the M-word. Why must you be so crass?" Pansy took a delicate bite of her roast chicken.

Harry looked down at the note again.

_Please drop by my office after dinner._

Then, with sudden, sure dread settling in his stomach, he knew.

Dumbledore wanted to talk about the Muggles.

Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive, no matter what Dumbledore threatened. Wild, rampaging dragons could not force him back there. Harry fleetingly wondered how long he would last if he challenged the Headmaster to a duel over the matter.

"Who does he think he is, anyway?" Harry muttered to Draco. "He wants to talk about the Muggles. I just know it. He didn't like it when I left, and I bet that hasn't changed."

"But you're going to live with Sirius. You're going to live with a wizard."

"I knew this was all too easy," Harry griped. "Good fortune doesn't just fall on my head like that."

"Who does he think he is?" Draco said, echoing Harry's earlier question.

Still, one did not ignore a summons to the Headmaster's office. Harry only picked at his dinner, dark thoughts flowing over from his brain and filling his belly as well. As his friends headed out to the hills to watch the sunset, he gave the password to the gargoyle and ascended the spiral stairs.

"Initiate an arrival," came the professor's voice through the door as Harry raised his hand to the knocker.

Harry went inside.

"Ah, Harry, so good of you to be prompt. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"No thank you, sir."

"Well, do take a seat. Have you been enjoying the fine weather?"

"Yes, sir. Without classes to attend, I guess we all want the fresh air. You can't even book the Quidditch pitch any more." He knew. He'd tried.

"A certain amount of cabin fever is to be expected at this time of year," Professor Dumbledore said sagely. "I have seen it without fail with every new face that comes through the gate."

"I never wanted to leave."

Dumbledore's levity lessened just a touch. "Yes, you were different, Harry. It should have concerned me more that you didn't care to go home. I have devoted much thought to the issue in recent months in trying to have modified the legislation that bears your name."

"The Act that takes away Muggle-borns to be raised in our world," Harry replied. "It's a smashing idea, but it doesn't apply to me."

"I've been pondering the just course of action, and it is no easy choice. A few of the arguments made were valid, even if the rest was a bag of so much wind. I will be seeking changes so that any witch or wizard of school age who would otherwise live with only Muggles to request a limited form of emancipation until they complete school."

Harry had been wrong. Dumbledore wanted to talk civics.

"The language of the amendment is specifically designed to affect students who find themselves in similar situations to your own, even though not Muggle-born. It ends the practice of abducting children in the night. It would be very helpful, Harry, if you would support this effort."

"No," Harry said deliberately, staring intently at the old man. "I would rather have lived at an orphanage. I don't see anything wrong with the present Act. I don't need it changed just for me, and I wouldn't want it to be anyway. Sirius said he'd been in contact with you, so I assume he let you know that I'm going to live with him from now on."

"He did mention it," Dumbledore said mildly. "I wonder if you shouldn't get to know him better before you make such a drastic decision."

Harry blinked. "Professor, he was my father's best friend. My father trusted him with his life and mine. What else do I need to know?"

Dumbledore had no answer. He sat immobile, his eyes on Harry, not even seeming to breathe. Stubborn. Very well. Harry pulled on his most insolent expression.

"Whatever you're thinking, stop it," he scathed. "I'm not going back there, and you can't make me. I'll go public again if I have to."

"There's no need for that drastic measure, certainly," Dumbledore offered.

"You don't seem to understand this, so let me be perfectly, absolutely, and undeniably clear: I hate anyone named Dursley."

Dumbledore kept his peace. "Very well, Harry," he said at last. "I can see there's no shifting you."

Harry didn't let his smile show on his face, but inside he was beaming. He hadn't even had to point out that the legal paperwork was all in order and secure in his Gringotts vault; the certified duplicate had arrived by owl post at breakfast.

"May I go, sir?"

The old man looked very tired suddenly. "Good night, Mister Potter."

"Thank you, sir."

Harry practically danced down the stairs. He regained his composure briefly when exiting past the gargoyle, but once outside in the courtyard, he let out a great whoop and threw himself into a cartwheel.

The sun was just touching the horizon. He was just in time. Harry hurried down to the rock formations where many students had climbed up to perch on the top.

"Harry!" Jenna called out to him. "You made it!"

Without much effort, Harry hauled himself up with Jenna, Pansy, and Draco. It was a bit tight, but Pansy and Draco were sitting rather close, giving Harry and Jenna more room.

"What news?" Draco inquired.

"No news," Harry replied with a grin. "What've I missed?"

"Well, I think Tim is absolutely uncouth," Pansy declared.

"This we knew."

When the sun had finally sunk below the skyline, they all headed back to the castle. Harry let his friends go ahead to the common room. He headed towards the Potions classrooms where Snape would be found in his office grading exams.

"Come in," Snape called, sounding very irritated indeed.

"Hello, Professor Snape," Harry said, opening the door and peeking inside. "Is this a bad time?"

Snape was hunched over his desk, still writing ferociously on the exam paper in red ink that made it seem dipped in blood.

"You cannot possibly be any less pleasant than grading this collection of rubbish," Snape opined, gesturing disdainfully towards a stack of parchment. "No student below N.E.W.T. level should ever be given a quill or ink."

"Even Slytherins?"

"Even Slytherins," Snape confirmed. "This is from Bole's written portion. 'The effect of adding four cups of salt water is to thin out the mixture. This makes it not as thick.' A first year could give that answer! But why is a less viscous solution desirable? What effect requires the water to be salinated? Inaccurate, inept, incomplete, insufficient, inexcusable!" He punctuated each adjective with fierce scratching on the parchment.

Snape took a deep breath. "Though I must except present company. You did very well with both the written and the practical. Most of the third years, in fact, did extremely well."

"It's one of our favourite subjects, sir," Harry told him truthfully. "Even Crabbe and Goyle like it, even if they aren't _good_ at it."

"Thank you, Mister Potter. It is, of course, mandatory that all Slytherins like Potions class. Now that you've finished flattering me, what brings you here this evening?" He sprinkled sand on the parchment he'd been working on to dry the ink and set it aside. He took the next exam and began immediately marking it. "I will not release your marks early. Wrong. Wrong! Not the root, the stalk! Idiot Hufflepuff!"

"I just wanted to say thank you."

Snape stopped writing. He looked up, and Harry could see the bags under his eyes and his generally haggard appearance. His hair seemed greasier than normal. Then he actually wiped the tip of the quill off and set it down on the desk.

"You wish to thank me, Mister Potter?"

"For what you did on the full moon. With Pettigrew, I mean. You were ready to kill Sirius, but you stopped and listened to me."

"Of course I did."

"Nobody ever listened to me before," Harry said quietly. "I just wanted to let you know it means a lot. Thank you."

Snape inclined his head. "You are welcome, Harry. But thanks aren't necessary. You are a Slytherin, and thus one of mine. When you, with more cause to hate Black than any other, you spoke such absurdities, I knew it must be the truth or a Confundus Charm. Then I saw Pettigrew's worthless self cowering on the floor. I may have wanted to capture Black personally, but I could not ignore the plain truth before my eyes."

"Everything is going to change now, and I owe it to you. I'm really glad I've got such a great Head of House."

Snape allowed himself to smile. "Thank you, Harry. Now then, the great Head of House and Potions Master has exams to weep over. A good night to you."

"Good night, sir."

Exam results came out a week after the Hogsmeade visit.

As expected, Harry had earned top marks in Defence, Arithmancy, and History. He didn't quite beat out Tim for top mark in Potions (or Charms, Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, or Herbology), but everyone was surprised when Crabbe flashed his Astronomy results at Tim with pride.

Blaise was second in most of their subjects. She was good-natured about it to his face and gave Tim his due, but she went on at great length in less polite terms to Harry when they were returning some books to the library.

"Smarmy, bug-eyed horn-beast that he is," she whispered vehemently. "How does he manage to score one hundred eleven points on one of _McGonagall's_ exams? Perfect scores in Herbology and Ancient Runes! I missed one question on the applications portion of Professor Babbling's test, and Tim's so smug and superior about it I could hex him! And Potions? One hundred thirty-four percent!"

"You're smart, too, Blaise. Missing one question isn't the end of the world." Harry didn't understand what she could be so upset about. Second-best was better than all the rest.

"I know that. I'm wondering if Tim doesn't."

"Maybe I should tell him."

Blaise smiled. "That would be nice." She glanced around, scanning the deserted library. Madam Pince was busy helping a seventh year Ravenclaw over in the Restricted Section, but the library was otherwise empty. Blaise took hold of Harry's sleeve and tugged him back in between the shelves.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. Without saying anything, Blaise leaned in to kiss him. Their lips touched, but Harry didn't reciprocate. She pulled back, looking intently at him.

"What's wrong?"

"We shouldn't do this."

"What?" Blaise sounded sure she must have misheard. "Shouldn't do what? Kiss in the library"

"I think you're great, Blaise. You're my best girl friend, you know. I don't want that to end."

"It's not ending."

"But it could. If we were boyfriend and girlfriend, but then we broke up, it would ruin our friendship. It ruined Jamie and Elan's. I don't want that to happen to us, Blaise." Harry knew it would hurt her, but it was the right thing to do.

Blaise stared at him incredulously for a long moment. Harry kept his face impassive, though he was aching for her to stop looking at him like that.

"Who says we'd break up?"

Her voice was carefully controlled. Harry hated himself for this, but there had been nothing for it. He and Blaise had kissed a few times and gone on one date, but it had to end there. Blaise had been his best girl friend since first year, and he didn't want to lose that by her becoming a girlfriend. He knew what he was doing made sense, but his heart felt like it was in his feet nonetheless.

"Jamie tried to _hex_ Elan, Blaise. In anger. It would kill me if that had been us."

"So what you're endeavouring to explain to me is that you are no longer desirous of being my boyfriend because of _Elan Malfoy?_" she exclaimed in a strangled whisper.

"Yes! I mean no!" Harry felt the situation rapidly spiralling out of control. "Blaise, I _watched_ it."

"What!" she cried, forgetting that they were in the library.

"Sssh!" came Madam Pince's stern warning.

"Draco and I were spying on them, okay? Jamie attacked Elan. She accused him of being unfaithful, and then she tried to hex him."

"Elan Malfoy is a paltering, cozening, two-timing cad!" Blaise said in a fierce whisper. "You're nothing like him!"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Harry said scornfully. "I'd like to be _more_ like him. He's a decent wizard, Blaise! He's always treated me absolutely square. What's more, he came to rescue me from the Muggles in the summer before second year and got in a lot of trouble because of it! He was forced to go to Durmstrang because Dumbledore expelled him for impersonating a Death Eater!"

Blaise gaped at him, and Harry mentally kicked himself. That wasn't common knowledge. Only he and Draco knew, and now Blaise.

"Obviously it was kept quiet," Harry said quickly. "So you can't say anything. Promise me that."

"So you want us to cease to exist as a unified whole and simultaneously request me to maintain your confidence?" Blaise was now the one being scornful. "Your expectations are rather lofty, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't want to hear another word against Elan, even if you are sticking up for Jamie," Harry said imploringly.

"No promises."

"Fine. But you can't say a word about that other thing I shouldn't have mentioned. Swear you won't."

"I shouldn't. But I promise."

Harry gave a small sigh of relief and motioned towards the door with his head, suggesting without words that they leave the library.

"Wait. We're not done. You are not breaking up with me."

Harry could have groaned. "Blaise!"

"So you witnessed the dissolution of their relationship. So what? It doesn't mean we will come to the same end, Harry."

"I don't want to chance it, Blaise. I would rather be your friend."

Blaise assumed a superior expression, and her nose lifted slightly in the air. She reminded Harry of Pansy in that moment.

"You're a confused boy. Jamie told me to have patience with you and eventually you'd come around. And so you did. This is the same. You just need time to think about things."

She tossed her blonde hair back over her shoulder and left Harry standing alone in the stacks with a completely bewildered look on his face.

Girls! Why did they have to be so obstinate?

The Leaving Feast was a merry affair.

Harry celebrated the Quidditch Cup victory with his team, but it was also a somewhat sombre affair. Flint had finished out his full seventh year, taken his N.E.W.T.s, and was going to be leaving the team in Bletchley's capable hands. Charles Warrington the Third would be taking Flint's position, as he had when the captain had missed half the year due to a family emergency. They would all have to try out for their positions again, but they were the best in the house; back in the fall, Harry hadn't even had a challenger during trials, what with his Firebolt and all.

The House Cup had gone to Ravenclaw this year. The Slytherins had rallied late, but had been unable to manage the last seventeen points needed to win. They chose to lose somewhat gracefully, revelling in the retention of the Quidditch Cup once again. Harry quite thought the Cup looked good decorated with all the green and silver ribbons.

"To Flint!" Bole roared, raising his cup in the air.

"Flint!"

"To the craziest captain I ever thought to play under!" shouted Derrick.

"Captain!"

"To Harry!" Flint bellowed, nearly deafening the recipient of that pledge, who was sitting next to him. "Best damn Seeker since forever!"

"Harry!" the table toasted again.

It was great fun and all, but Harry still wished that it could be over. For the first time, he wanted to leave Hogwarts. He was going to live with his godfather. The statement still gave him chills, even when he only said it to himself.

And at last the feast was over. They hurried back to their common rooms, packed a last few things into their trunks, had one last sleep in their beds, bathed, gobbled down breakfast, rode down to the village in the carriages that smelled strongly of mouldy straw, boarded the train, and were on their way back to London.

Harry spent most of the ride staring out the window. His mind was miles away, wondering how he was going to decorate his new room. Quidditch posters, definitely, of the Montrose Magpies. What colours should he paint the walls? Green? Silver? Both?

His excitement built with every passing kilometre. He hauled his trunk out of the compartment even before the train stopped moving. When at last it finally screeched to a halt, he clambered off, looking around eagerly.

There he was, leaning casually against a pillar, scanning the windows of the train.

"Sirius!" he shouted.

"All right, Harry?"

Harry beamed. "Yes." He turned to his friends, who had just gotten off the car. "I'll give you all a fire call in a few days."

"Bye, Harry! See you at the Quidditch World Cup!"

"Bye, Mister Black!"

"No good-bye kiss from your girlfriend, Harry?"

"Can we not talk about that, please?"

"Sure, Harry, sure. Let me get that trunk for you." He lifted it. "Oof! What have you got in here, lead weights?"

"No, just wizard weights."

As they made their way towards the portal out to Platforms Nine and Ten, people seemed to move back out of Sirius' way. A few noticed him suddenly and jumped in their skin from fright. Sirius' smile became a bit fixed, and Harry muttered up at him, "Just ignore them."

"What?"

"Ignore them. They're going to stare no matter what. Let them gawk if they want to be so stupid. They don't know you."

Sirius considered that for a few steps. "Wise advise, Harry."

Before he could reply, Harry caught sight of a woman with serious grey hair and a monocle coming towards them. Sirius stopped walking as she made her way closer.

"Mister Black," Director Amelia Bones said in a neutral tone. "Good afternoon."

"Director," Sirius replied with a nod of his head.

"You look well."

"Thank you. It's amazing what a little fresh air and sunshine will do for one's health." Sirius' voice was bland.

Director Bones smiled tightly. "Mister Black, your subtle insults do not bother me after the abuse I've been taking in the press for my decision to have Peter Pettigrew given the Dementor's Kiss."

"I admit I had to look up a few of the adjectives the editors at the Daily Prophet called you."

Director Bones harrumphed. "If they think I'm going to apologize for eliminating the threat posed by a very dangerous Dark wizard, they're sadly mistaken. I may have acted with haste, but it was not unwarranted. He was a grievous breach of security, and if he'd been allowed to pass on any of his knowledge to factions still loyal to You-Know-Who, then they'd be calling for my head for allowing _that_!"

"So there are still those loyal?"

"Oh yes." She said no more, and on a public train platform, that was probably wise. Then her eyes shifted, and a smile broke her stern expression. A Hufflepuff girl in Harry's form approached and gave the old witch a big hug.

"Aunt Amelia!"

"Susan! So good to see you at last!"

Susan noticed Harry and Sirius for the first time. "Oh, hello, Potter."

"Hi, Bones. I didn't know the Director was your aunt."

"Yeah." Bones paused. "She took me in after my parents were murdered by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She and my dad were always close. She raised me as her own."

Harry was a bit unnerved by her personal disclosure for a second, but in the next instant he suddenly felt very close to Susan. She'd been orphaned too. All at once, he wanted to share something equally personal in return.

"That's what's happening to me now. This is Sirius Black, my godfather, and I'm going to live with him."

Susan didn't show a bit of surprise at Sirius' presence, and she gave instead a little gasp and clasped her hands together.

"Oh, wow, that's galactic, Potter! Congratulations!"

"Thanks."

"Susan, you didn't tell me you were friends with Harry Potter."

"I'm not." She immediately blushed. "Wait, that came out wrong. I know him from class. We share History of Magic with Slytherin. He's always been a decent sort, but we only ever talked about goblin rebellions."

"Well why haven't you tried to make friends with him?" Director Bones said as though she couldn't understand why it hadn't already happened. "Harry seems like a pleasant enough boy from what I've seen and heard."

"Aunt Amelia," Susan pleaded, turning red. "Stop it."

"I'm only teasing you because I'm so happy to see you, dear." Director Bones checked her watch. "We've got to go, Susan. I need to be back at the office in thirty minutes."

"Good day, Director," Harry said, echoed by Sirius.

"Good day, Harry," she replied. "Mister Black."

"See you in the fall, Potter," Susan bid. "Have a good holiday, yes?

"You, too."

"Bye, Mister Black."

Susan and her aunt hurried toward the portal, and Sirius poked Harry on the shoulder while grinning mischievously.

"What?"

"She likes you."

"Beard," Harry said instantly. He didn't believe it at all.

"The way she blushed when she misspoke? Trust me, Harry, that young witch thinks you're a charming lad."

"_Itchy_ beard."

Harry took a step, but Sirius advanced no further. He was standing stock still, staring at someone in the crowd. The people parted as Lucius Malfoy strode forward with his wife just a step behind.

Their eyes were locked; Mr. Malfoy's pale grey orbs stared into Sirius' brown. Sirius didn't give an inch. He waited and waited. Neither of them even blinked, and finally Mrs. Malfoy stepped between them, breaking their eye contact.

"Cousin Sirius," she said warmly, spreading her arms slightly.

The invitation to greet her with a hug was plain, but Sirius did not accept it. He merely tilted his head slightly and spoke through stiff lips, "Narcissa."

"I have missed you these many years."

"Since when have you cared about me?" he asked bluntly. "You didn't visit; you didn't write."

"Nobody visits Azkaban."

"With good reason."

"We are relieved to see you walking free again."

"So you're pleased to see me then, are you, Lucius?"

Mr. Malfoy's voice could have crushed boulders into sand. "Oh yes, Black, very pleased indeed. I hope that your time in Azkaban hasn't done you any lasting damage."

"I understand you've been good to Harry," Sirius said, his teeth nearly clenched with controlled fury. "Thank you for that."

"It was our pleasure," Mr. Malfoy said, suddenly smiling sardonically. "Harry is the one who rescued us all from the reign of darkness."

"And you want that, do you?"

"My wants are more complex than you could possibly understand, Black," Mr. Malfoy said with acid dripping off his words. "We may not have seen eye to eye on a lot of things, but you need to understand right now that we are on the same side here."

"That's a laugh," Sirius said with a barking, disbelieving sort of laugh. "I know you, Lucius."

"Everyone changes, Black. Your brother changed his mind."

"You leave Regulus out of this!" Sirius snarled. "Your pack of thugs killed him when he didn't want to be a part of the gang any more."

"The Dark Lord killed him. Which is exactly what would have happened to me."

"No chance of that," Sirius laughed harshly.

"I, too, made a mistake, Sirius. Can I not be forgiven?"

"That remains to be seen."

"Cousin," Mrs. Malfoy said, inserting herself again, "ever since Draco brought Harry into our lives, he has been a delight and a treasure. We are the better for having known him. I wouldn't trade the grace he's brought me for anything. You can mock that if you want to, but it shows you truly don't know the boy."

Her words gave Sirius pause. He looked down at Harry, who was watching the adults in his life argue about him with a degree of apprehension.

"I know all about their past, Sirius," he said. "But it is the past. I've forgiven them for their mistakes. They've taken me in when I needed a place to go. At the same time, you were my dad's best friend, so I know you've got my best interests in mind, too. I would really, really like it if we could all make peace. You all are important to me."

Mr. Malfoy spread his hands. "He's got us there, Sirius. What say you?"

"I say we've still got a lot of talking to do," Sirius said darkly. "But the train platform is hardly the appropriate place to do it."

"Well-spoken, Cousin. I shall call upon you in several days' time."

"Fine."

The Malfoys said goodbye and went to collect Draco. Sirius and Harry headed for Puddlemucker's and waited patiently in the queue. When they finally reached the fireplace, Sirius shouted, "Grimmauld Place!" and gestured to Harry to go first.

Harry stepped into the green flames, holding his breath as things started to spin. He stumbled out of the grate at the other end without falling down, and Sirius came through right behind him.

"Welcome home, Harry."

Finé


	20. Missing Scenes

**They Shook Hands : Year Three**

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic  
by Dethryl

**Chapter Gamma - Missing Scenes from Year Three**

"Narcissa, you should sit down."

Puzzled at Lucius' mysterious demeanour, Narcissa Malfoy sat on the sofa in the public part of the master suite.

"Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban."

It was impossible to fathom. Azkaban was the most remote and secure place in the wizarding world. It was guarded by isolation, magic, and soul-sucking Dementors. Surely her husband was having fun with her. Lucius liked to do that on occasion. It was in very poor taste; one did not joke about Azkaban. Yet the grave expression on his face confirmed that he was not joking.

"How?" Narcissa asked breathlessly. No one had ever escaped from the only wizarding prison. "The Dementors-"

"Failed, somehow. Nobody knows how Black did it. The Ministry was informed only hours ago."

"What does it mean? How will they catch him?"

Lucius drew his lips back in a sneer. "The Ministry couldn't catch a cold. They certainly won't be able to catch Black. If he was able to escape from a locked cell where Dementors patrol the corridor every hour, he's capable of anything."

"What will he do? Where would he go?"

"I don't know. He's got to be insane after twelve years in that hole. Who knows what he might take it into his head to do."

Narcissa didn't know what to think. "He could be headed anywhere, then. He could even come here. Lucius, he might hurt the boys!"

"He has no reason to come here."

"Would he need a reason?"

Lucius now looked grim. "I worry less about him coming after our family than I do about collateral damage. I believe that Black somehow got the idea that he can bring back the Dark Lord by murdering the one who vanquished him."

"Harry!" In her panic over her blood family, Narcissa had overlooked the boy her youngest son had befriended.

"Yes. He could be in mortal peril. By extension, so is Draco."

"What can we do?"

"I had faith in our defences when I went to work this morning. Now, I am not so sure. I've contracted a specialist to make an inspection and evaluation. If necessary, we will add to the protections."

"What about when school begins? They'll be safe at Hogwarts, won't they?"

Lucius sighed deeply. "I don't know," he confessed, sitting down on the sofa next to his wife. "I just don't know, and that scares me more than anything."

Narcissa felt a stab of despair. Lucius, who always knew what to do in any situation, was at a loss. How, then, were the rest of them to know?

"The best hope lies in the Hit Wizards that have been contracted. They are professionals at finding and eliminating people."

"But there's no way to know," she replied bitterly. "We can track under-age magic, but not an escaped prisoner."

"Be fair, my love; no one has ever done this before."

"Is it really so hard to put a Tracking Charm on these convicts?"

"It would have to have been thought necessary, my dear. The Dementors were deemed by the Ministry to be enough."

Narcissa said several very unladylike words about the Ministry and the buffoons who ran it. "Lucius, we need to get Harry here immediately. He's all alone in Surrey."

"Dumbledore has eyes on the boy. While I don't hold by the old man's discretion in letting him be abused by Muggles, he won't allow harm to come near."

"Since when do we have faith in Dumbledore?" she asked cuttingly.

"We don't. But I have already tried to Apparate to Surrey. There are powerful redirection spells cast over the whole place. I wound up in Argyllshire. I suspect broom and Portkey travel are prevented as well. Dumbledore does not want Harry taken out of there again."

"Lucius, I'm worried."

"So am I. I will keep thinking. If you have any ideas, any at all, I will try. With luck, Harry will manage to slip his bonds again and come to us."

Laine Slater was absolutely beside herself. She preened and smoothed her hair, glad she hadn't allowed her mother to put it into braids like a child would wear. Harry Potter himself had just asked for her help, right in front of her mates. He was so handsome and famous and wonderful, yet he had sought her out. Could life get any better?

"It's nice to see that Harry knows who to turn to when he needs help," she said proudly. "I don't know why he's going through all this trouble for a Weasley, but I'm sure he has a good reason." Laine didn't really know Ginny Weasley, but Mother said that all Weasleys were blood traitors.

"All that red hair is so vulgar," Michelle Holt said scornfully. "I can't believe we're going to actually do this."

"Well, if we take in the Weasley girl, Harry will come visit her. And then he'll also visit us," Sarrah Nolan pointed out. "Any friend of Harry Potter is a friend of ours."

"And the older kids really like her. They might take her along, and then she'd have to take us along," Shawna Osman agreed.

"Plus her brother's going to be Head Boy. My cousin Lila said so," Sarrah added, looking very pleased with herself. "So we'll be friends with someone very well-connected."

"Lucas is going to be so jealous," Laine simpered, running her fingers through her hair. "He's dying to become Harry's friend so he can get some Quidditch pointers. But now he's friends with us, girls."

"So what are you asking for your favour?" Sarrah asked of Michelle. "I mean, he's the Boy Who Lived. He can do anything," she squeaked.

"When I need it, I'll know. Having him owe me is enough," Michelle said. "Don't you think?"

"I- I think Draco's the better one. He has such nice hair," Shawna giggled, looking over the moon herself about getting a present from Malfoy. "What?" she asked defensively as Michelle directed a questioning glance her way. "He's very handsome."

"Come on, Shawnie. What's hair compared to the Boy Who Lived?" Michelle asked. "He's faced You-Know-Who himself. He's greatness personified, and now he owes me a favour," she said, looking quite satisfied with herself.

"Well, Draco has other qualities. He's very, um, heroic," Shawna said, before blushing as everyone giggled.

"Yeah, I'm sure he never passes a mirror before giving it a heroic glance," Michelle teased. "That hair looks more cared for than Professor Sprout's garden."

"Do you think Harry prefers girls with long hair or short?" Michelle asked suddenly.

Laine glared at her friend with a look that could have scared the Basilisk that used to live in the school. "Why?" she asked in a deadly tone. Sarrah suddenly got very busy cleaning her fingernails, while Shawna began opening a Chocolate Frog.

Michelle paled and fingered the edge of her robe. "Because Lucas finally convinced your folks to let him get a haircut, and you said you were going to try to get one too, and I was thinking maybe you should wait," she said softly.

Laine's pretty smile returned immediately. "Good point. You're a genius. I need to find that out," she said. "And I wonder if I could nick some make-up from one of the older girls for a bit."

"Also, you should make sure you have some nice dress robes sent up, just in case," Sarrah pointed out.

"Definitely. Harry would want someone who looks sophisticated," Laine said happily. "I think my blue ones would look best, don't you agree?"

"What about silver?" Shawna asked, nibbling on a frog leg. She was still looking rather pink.

"You mean like Malfoy's eyes?" Laine teased. "You're so silly; that boy is only in love with himself."

Credit: This scene was largely written by Elle, because she was once a twelve year old girl, and I was not.

"The Dementors must go! I won't have them near my school! Get them out, Cornelius! Immediately!"

Headmaster Dumbledore's voice was audible even through the Minister for Magic's closed door. Lucius Malfoy got to his feet and pushed the door open, ignoring the protests of Fudge's secretary. He stepped over the threshold and let the door shut loudly behind him.

"I decided not to wait any longer," he announced in the sudden silence that accompanied his intrusion. "As our visits are on the same subject, Headmaster, it behoves us to not intrude excessively on the good Minister's valuable time."

"Here about the Dementors, Lucius?" Dumbledore asked with a curious gaze.

"Indeed. They must go."

Dumbledore's political face was absolutely unreadable to Lucius, despite his best efforts. "Very well, say your piece."

"Minister, I am in unequivocal agreement with Professor Dumbledore in this matter. I speak for the other governors as well when I say that the Dementors are not suited to anything other than prison duty, and maybe not even that. Their presence at Hogwarts is already causing problems. The students at large are at more risk from the Dementors than they are from Sirius Black. What horrors will we put our children through in order to put up a strong show of force?"

Fudge looked like a trapped animal. His weak eyes were darting back and forth between Lucius and Dumbledore, finding no refuge, no friendly face. "Sirius Black must be caught, Lucius. The Dementors will find him."

"Black escaped the Dementors when they had him locked in a cell," Lucius sneered. "I will not hold my breath hoping that they can suddenly manifest the ability to halt him. Have they admitted culpability in his escape?"

"No," Fudge replied, seeming to deflate a bit. "They grow very testy when questioned about it, too."

"Well, there you are. They haven't told us how he managed to do the deed, either?"

"No."

"Incompetent on all fronts, then," Lucius declared. "If they cannot do the job, why insist on placing them near students? They must go, Fudge. Now."

Fudge finally gave up and bowed his head. "Very well, very well. I'll call down to Em El Eey and give the orders."

"Thank you, Minister," Dumbledore said, breaking his silence. "I'll be going now. Lucius, a word?"

Lucius gestured for the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot to precede him out the door and into the hallway.

"I am pleased to find us on the same side of an issue, Lucius."

"Whatever reasonable differences adults may have, Dumbledore, we should be undivided in the cause of doing what is best for our children. All magical children deserve protection, do they not?" Lucius could not resist the chance to throw the old man's opposition to the Magical Child Protection Act in his face.

Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "Good day, Lucius."

"Are you going to hog the mirror all night?" Jamie teased, poking her head into her sister's room. "Stare too long and you'll get stuck in there."

"I need to look perfect, Jamie. That takes time," Blaise retorted as she curled her hair with a liberal amount of enchanted gel. "So should I do it straight or curly?" she asked.

"Just look natural, dear. You don't want to seem too eager," Jamie explained, fetching a brush and combing out her sister's hair. "Try and pretend this doesn't mean anything much."

"But it does! I've been waiting so long for Harry to finally notice I'm a girl!" Blaise wailed. "I don't want to ruin it."

She looked so nervous. Jamie wondered where the little girl was who used to play with dolls and was afraid of the cellar? Her sister was truly growing up.

"You are going to be fine. You're so beautiful, you know. Harry won't be able to take his eyes off you. He better behave himself, or Father will make sure the Boy Who Lived, doesn't," Jamie said, clucking her sister under the chin.

She remembered feeling the same way on her first date with Elan. It was horrible to imagine that Blaise would face that same heart break over separation someday wondering if she would die of loneliness without him. At least, if Blaise was hurt, Jamie would be able to empathize with her.

"You really think so?" Blaise asked, her wide blue eyes making her look like a little girl. I want him to think I'm wonderful. He's a Hero and I'm just... me. What if he gets bored with me? What do I say to him?" she begged.

"First, stop being nervous. Boys don't like their dates to be agitated. Second, things have a way of working out and bringing people together. Look at Lynn Fawcett and Percy Weasley. They would have never met and now they're dating. I mean, he's from blood traitor trash and she's a Slytherin, but they're so happy together. Sometimes love comes in interesting ways."

Jamie smiled. She was going to be happy again; she couldn't be depressed for her sister. Things had gotten better for those around Jamie; good luck had to happen to her and her sister as well.

"So, just trust in the future? That's the most confusing advice I have ever heard," Blaise sniffed, sounding desperate. She looked on the verge of tears.

"Don't cry, pet. You'll be fine. Harry will adore you. And I said you should stop worrying about the future. You just have to wait for the right guy, and then he'll never get bored with you, and you'll always know what to say," Jamie said, patting her hand. "Now, what do you want to wear?"

Blaise put on a forced smile. "My new pink jumper and your burgundy skirt," she said, trying to sneak the request by her.

Jamie decided to let the request go this time. "An excellent choice," she encouraged. "He'll be here soon, so hurry."

Blaise stood up and suddenly hugged her sister. "Thanks Jaimes," she whispered, burying herself in her sister's shoulder. "You're the best."

Jamie smiled. "Thanks. Now, get dressed," she said, silently wishing her sister good luck now that she was entering the romantic world. She would need it; it was a tough road to travel. "Boys don't like it when you're late. Just be yourself and be on time!"

Credit: This scene was largely written by Elle, because she was once a sixteen year old girl, and I was not.

Elan's face grew wary. "I've always been discrete, Father."

"The train station is hardly discrete," Mr. Malfoy observed dryly.

"That was Jamie, not me!" Elan sounded defensive. "She hadn't seen me for months!"

Mrs. Malfoy turned to face her husband, stepping closer to Elan. "And who could blame her? I don't." She kissed her eldest's cheek. "We have a fine son, Lucius."

Mr. Malfoy shook his head. "She's a silly girl," he declared with finality. "The sooner you're rid of her, the better."

"I'll break up with Jamie when I choose, Father," Elan said. "And besides, what's wrong with showing affection?"

"In private, nothing." Mr. Malfoy waved his hand dismissively. "Do what you will, Elan. So long as you remember your responsibility to marry pure and carry on the family line, I don't suppose it much matters. I just wish you would consider the politics of the situation."

"Father," Elan said calmly, "I understand more about politics than I think you realize."

Mr. Malfoy peered at his eldest son with an inquisitive expression. "My love, would you excuse us, please? I think Elan and I need to have a father-son chat."

"Of course, darling." Mrs. Malfoy gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "I wanted to talk to Harry anyway."

"Be safe, Harry," Mr. Malfoy cautioned.

"I will."

"And have fun!" Elan ordered as he left the room. Mr. Malfoy put his arm around his son's shoulders.

"So what is it that you understand so well of politics, my son? Have you found a noble Russian witch to bring home to your mother and I?" Lucius was intrigued by Elan's sudden cool gravity. Had Durmstrang really done so well with him?

"I know you've never approved of Jamie. You given me lots of reasons, but I've never listened. Truth is, ever since I've been away at school, she's become very boring. All of her letters sound exactly the same. 'I miss you; I'm thinking about you; I can't wait to see you.' I tried to tell her about all the things I was doing, but she only ever asked if I missed her and if I was thinking about her. Durmstrang is amazing, and all she cared about was holding me close under a lousy tree."

"And you're letting her believe your feelings have not changed?"

"Jamie's a fun snog, Father."

"Must you be so vulgar, Elan?"

"Well she is," Elan said defensively. "I might not be in love with Jamie anymore, but I thought I was, and people who are in love snog. It's not like it was when you were growing up, Father."

"No, it's not," Lucius retorted. "And more's the pity. You're just going to have to learn the hard way what I was taught as a maxim."

"Which is?"

"Witches have wands and are perfectly capable of doing unspeakable things to you if you cross them."

"Jamie would never raise her wand to me," Elan said confidently. "She values her place in the pecking order too greatly. She tried to talk down to Percy once, you know. I had words with her about how to speak to her betters."

"When do you plan to rid yourself of her?"

"When I return permanently to England. There will be no escaping her then, and I will rightly claim that she's changed since I've been away."

"And do you have someone else in mind?"

"There are many possibilities, Father. I want to find a nice, pliant girl to settle down with, and I can't very well do that from Durmstrang. Not that there aren't lots of pretty girls there too, but I don't really want to add another blonde to the family, you know?"

"It's so very sweet, isn't it?" asked Narcissa Malfoy of her husband. "Soon Draco will begin dating as well. My little baby," she sighed. "When did he grow up on me?"

Lucius smiled in understanding. Only yesterday he had been wondering the same thing. "We asked as much when Elan first took a young lady out."

"I remember. You waited by the fireplace for hours, staring into the flames. You wouldn't budge even for a little swim."

Was it hot in here?

"I was worried." Lucius had struggled mightily to be able to admit it, but now he said it matter-of-factly. "He is our son. I will always worry about him."

Narcissa was the one smiling now. "You love your sons very much. You don't try to hide it under a stiff-necked pose. I think I love you half again as much for that."

"Family is of the utmost importance. Father said it often enough. 'Blood ties are binding. Family you can trust.'"

"It's more than that."

"Yes."

He said nothing more, merely smiling at her and drinking in her beauty. She was flawless, a blonde goddess taken of mortal form. Were her bloodline not firmly established, he might take her to have veela blood.

"Are you worried about Harry, then?"

Narcissa's question caught him off-guard. He was entertaining thoughts of an evening swim with his entrancing water nymph. He coughed abruptly, clearing his imagination of some stimulating images.

"Ah, Harry, yes. I have few worries about his outing tonight. I have gainfully employed several wizards to be present at the concert and keep an eye on our wayward boy. In the event of trouble, they are instructed to remove Harry via Portkey to just outside the front gate."

"You're spying on him?"

"Only in the most exaggerated sense of the word. His safety is of more importance than his eventual indignance at his first date not being entirely private. He should be grateful it is not chaperoned." Lucius doubted, however, that Harry would have tolerated being chaperoned.

"Do you intend to interrogate him when he returns?"

"No," Lucius decided. "We do not want to make him feel awkward. He doubtless is in great turmoil right now. Let us give him some time to digest it all. He will need to sort out his feelings before we can ask him about them. We will speak with him at Easter."

Theodore Nolan hadn't had even so much as an argument with any of his roommates for weeks. So it was very unexpected that the bedsheets wouldn't let him out of bed. If he made any sudden movements, the sheets wrapped tighter around him. If he made a move for the edge of the bed, he was dragged back into the middle. He didn't know who had set up the jinx, but someone was going to suffer his elder sister Sarrah's wrath when he told her about this.

"Help!" he shouted, hoping someone was still in the house and could hear him.

There was only silence. Everyone was down at the Quidditch pitch watching Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. That was where he should be as well. So why had he slept in? A quick glance at his bedside table showed that someone had turned off his alarm clock, probably the same person or persons who had jinxed his bed.

Ted struggled and fought against the sheets, knowing that the jinx on them couldn't last forever. If he could just outlast it, he'd be able to get free. He could only hope that the jinx hadn't been cast by an upper form student; he could be here for weeks!

At last, the magic could no longer tolerate his struggles and dissipated. Throwing off the sheets, he pulled his robes on over his pyjamas and ran for the Quidditch pitch.

He heard the roar of the crowd as he hurried down the path and ran even harder. He tucked his head down and therefore missed seeing the haggard figure in tatty grey robes who darted out from behind a rock formation.

The man grabbed the front of his robes and put his face very close to Ted's. His skin was deathly pale, his teeth yellowed, and his breath from the grave. In abject terror, Ted recognized the man as Sirius Black.

"Little Slytherin," Black growled at him. "Tell me the password to your common room, and I'll kill you quickly!"

Gibberish flowed from Ted's mouth as he tried to comprehend what was happening to him. Black's death-grip on his robes was choking him. Black shook him slightly, sending him flopping around like a rag doll. His teeth chattered together from both force and fear.

"Tell me!" Black said again.

"W-w-we m-miss K-k-kettleburn!" Ted gasped out.

Black stopped shaking him and smiled an awful smile that Ted knew he would see in his nightmares forever. "Thank you," he said evilly, and he let go of Ted's robes.

"Make it quick," Ted requested, closing his eyes and silently apologizing to whatever spirit was listening for having been so awful to his sister.

"Yah!" Black screamed loudly, and he lunged towards Ted as if to grab him again.

Ted's eyes rolled back in his head. He fell to the ground in a dead faint. Black stood over him for only a second; he headed up to the castle.

"Time to die, Peter," he muttered to himself in satisfaction. "'We miss Kettleburn'; 'we miss Kettleburn'. No one is going to miss you, Peter! Death to all traitors."

_Dear Ron Weasley,_

I've found your rat poking about in the garden. I know you lost him recently, so if you would please like to come get him, I'll be home this evening.

Professor Hagrid

_Magical Creatures_

Professor Remus J. Lupin, Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower watching the sky. In only hours, the full moon would rise, and he would transform once more into his hated form. Yet again, he damned the name of Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who had given Lupin the Cursed Bite.

The Bite had ruined his life. He was a bloodthirsty monster for three days of every lunar cycle. He couldn't apply for many jobs, and those he could do were generally of a short-lived nature. He owned little. He needed little. So long as he had his wand, he would never go hungry; you couldn't conjure food directly, but a clever wizard soon figured out how to turn the trick. Still, it was not an easy life. Nomadic drifting wore hard on the soul. It was a lousy hand he had been dealt, but he could do naught but play it anyway. Life was too special to give up, even if it meant monthly torment of unspeakable agony.

The only peace he had ever known had been here at Hogwarts; first as a student, and later as a teacher. Now his inner beast was tamed by the Wolfsbane Potion, a highly complicated bit of brewing that Severus Snape, Hogwarts' Potions Master and Lupin's schoolyard enemy, was quite versed in making. In the days of his youth, Lupin had prowled the night with the Marauders.

Messieurs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, collectively known as the Marauders, had roamed the Forbidden Forest in animal form in search of adventure and fun. Now the brotherhood was broken, two dead and one their cause of death. Moony alone remained.

Moony stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower and wondered how it had all gone so horribly wrong. "And why did it need to get worse?" he asked of the uncaring stars. Fate seemed not content with taking away the only friends he had ever had. Now the betrayer had escaped from Azkaban and was after Prongs' son.

It was why Moony had taken the post of Defence teacher, despite the purported curse on it. He did not fear a curse if it meant that he could do right by James and Lily. Moony was all that remained to guard Harry. With such a direct threat, he would stand in harm's way and not flinch in the face of death.

He had no illusions that death was coming for him. Padfoot had always been better with his spells. If he had managed to get hold of a wand, it would take luck of the sort magic couldn't produce for Moony to take him down. And Remus had never been lucky.

He tore his eyes from the sky and looked out over the grounds. The Dementors stood watch over the front gate as though they were doing something useful. It was twisted to have those creatures of evil standing watch over children. It was all so needless. Padfoot would never use the front gate.

Somehow he had managed to penetrate the school's defences. Moony knew with grim certainty in his gut that it was one of the secret ways the Marauders had discovered. That instinct tore at his conscience; he had to speak out, protect Harry, help capture Black and see him executed for his crimes. But for Remus to reveal his knowledge would have meant admitting that he had betrayed Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had admitted him to Hogwarts when no other headmaster would have done so. He'd had no idea the four Gryffindor boys were breaking the rules he had set down for his werewolf student, rules made clear for the safety of everyone.

Lupin's nights were haunted by the narrow close calls the Marauders had had while out on the prowl. He had led three boys into becoming illegal Animagi. He knew he should go to Dumbledore and tell him that Black was an Animagus, but he could not bring himself to face the timeless gaze of the greatest wizard of the age.

So he told himself that Voldemort had taught Black many Dark Arts. Surely he could have used one or more of these to infiltrate the school. Two years ago, Professor Quirrell had been possessed by Voldemort himself! Black being an Animagus wasn't anything to do with this.

Out on the lawn, Ron Weasley, Molly and Arthur's youngest boy was coming up the path. He had hands clasped in front of him, holding something close to his body. The boy stopped in his tracks as someone stepped out from behind a rock with a pointed wand.

Lupin peered closer. Great Merlin, it was Harry!

The pair exchanged some heated words, and Lupin gripped the battlement so hard his knuckles turned white. Weasley was completely at a disadvantage.

_Don't hex him_, he thought desperately. _Please don't hex him when he's unarmed!_

Then, proving that Remus Lupin had no luck at all, he saw the dog. He recognized it instantly, and his heart jumped into his throat. Padfoot!

Moony tore down the spiral stairs and down the hall. He was running as fast as he could, and people in the portraits were watching him with the fascination of those with endless time on their hands. He thundered past his office and nearly collided headlong into Snape.

"Watch it!" Snape drawled in a very annoyed tone of voice. "I've your potion, Lupin. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

His potion! God, he'd almost done it again! He'd nearly put innocent life in danger because of his thoughtlessness.

"Thank you, Severus!" he gasped, grabbing the goblet and throwing the contents back at one go. Ignoring Snape's puzzled look, he ran down the hall and practically tripped down the eight flights of stairs to the entrance hall.

The foul taste of the potion was strong in his mouth as he ran his fastest down the steep path and across the lawn to where the Whomping Willow waved its branches in the windless night. He conjured a pointed stick with a wave of his wand and levitated it inside the Willow's branches. It had been many years, but he saw the knot instantly and poked it with the stick. The branches froze.

He dove down the secret tunnel and into the passageway. Hunched over in most places, he moved as fast as he could. Of all the times when it would have been convenient to change into an animal and he couldn't. It was not fair at all.

The tunnel began to rise, and he hurriedly climbed up to the trapdoor. Wand first, he poked his head out and scanned for threats. God, it was just like the war: sneaking around in the dark, wand at the ready to maim or kill, innocents in danger.

A floorboard creaked under his foot.

"Help!" a terrified voice shouted suddenly from above. "Sirius Black is up here! Help!"

Lupin thundered up the stairs. It didn't matter if he was noisy now. Obviously he'd already been heard. The door exploded in a shower of red sparks as his Blasting Hex blew it apart. He didn't even slow down as he hurtled into the room.

"_Expelliarmus!_" he shouted, using a wand movement he didn't teach the students. Sure enough, Black had a wand, and it popped into the air as the spell disarmed him. Lupin snatched the wand out of the air and took two steps towards Black.

"Sirius, my old friend," he said sadly. "Looking rather ragged, aren't we? Finally, the flesh reflects the madness within."

"Well, you'd know all about the madness within, wouldn't you?"

Severus Snape watched Harry Potter walk back to the castle with a spring in his step. The boy had just witnessed his parents' betrayer receive the Dementor's Kiss and hadn't batted an eye. His early life had been hell, and he appeared to have been tempered by the fire. Harry was made of stern stuff.

Small wonder he'd been Sorted to Slytherin. That had puzzled Snape at first. He had hated the boy on sight, for it was like looking at that damned James Potter all over again. Slytherin, though, that had surprised him. Still, Snape had determined to take a firm hand with the boy, to teach him that life was more than a sunny dream.

The boy had risen to the challenge.

Snape forced his students into knowing their material by virtue of constantly quizzing them on potions ingredients, their magical properties, and the magical laws that governed the art of potion-making. He always drilled a class heavily when starting off a term or returning from holiday.

Harry Potter had known the material. He'd answered three questions on random, unrelated subjects. He'd earned points for Slytherin and, more importantly, Severus Snape's respect.

It was small at first and grudgingly given, but Snape had been mentally set back on his heels by Potter's preparation for class. And while he was considering how to deal with the unexpected development, more things happened to distinguish Harry from his father. He conducted himself with decorum. He was respectful. He studied hard and had a firm grasp of the basics of potions-making. In that regard, he was more like his mother.

It was a bittersweet reminder.

It was enough for Snape to recognize Harry as his own person. That person was a Slytherin, and thus under Snape's protection. And without a doubt, Harry was a Slytherin. Snape had spent a great deal of time observing Harry and concluded that the Sorting Hat had not made a mistake.

Though he'd nearly reconsidered that assessment as that year had finished up. The crazy stunt of going after the Philosopher's Stone could only have been dreamed up by a Gryffindor. That he'd won through spoke volumes about his Slytherin qualities of cunning and ingenuity.

The situation with the Chamber of Secrets had at first also seemed like a display of Gryffindor stupidity (after all, any properly trained wizard who suspected a basilisk would transfigure any convenient object into a rooster), Snape had spent the whole summer analysing Harry's story to conclude that the motivating factor had been pride. House pride, certainly, because the Heir of Slytherin was darkening an already tarnished name; personal pride was also involved, because Harry had been accused of being the Heir, and _his_ name was being tarnished. No true Slytherin would stand for being falsely accused.

Now he'd run off into the Dementor-filled night chasing a dot on an enchanted map. In the end, he'd managed to capture a Dark wizard and partially avenge the murder of his parents. Harry had told no one where he was going, and it was only by Merlin's luck that he was still alive.

"Quite a night, eh, Severus?" Dumbledore inquired when the boy was out of earshot.

"Indeed, Headmaster."

"You controlled yourself quite well around Sirius. I'm very proud of you."

"Spare me the hollow words, Headmaster. I will never be able to forgive him. I'm not actively seeking to kill him anymore. Count that as progress."

"Indeed I do," Dumbledore nodded. "Has the knowledge of his innocence lessened your hatred of him?"

"I never believed Black would turn on Potter," Snape admitted. "Those two were too close. I didn't understand it, but the facts were the apparent facts. In the end, it didn't matter at all to me."

"No, certainly not." Dumbledore paused to gather his thoughts. "I must admit to a certain concern for young Harry," he said, changing the subject. "He is exhibiting most disturbing behaviour."

"In what regard, Headmaster?"

"I worry that he might be walking a dark path. He was so eager to watch Pettigrew be Kissed, and he showed no more emotion than my favourite paperweight."

"He has been walking in very dark places, Headmaster. Do not forget that he spent ten years of his life in darkness at the hands of Muggles."

"I do not need to be reminded of it, Severus." Was Dumbledore's tone a bit sharp? Snape thought it so.

"He went to the Muggles because his parents were betrayed and murdered. The man who sold them out was standing before him. He has brooded all year about how he would seek justice, and now he has it."

"I fear that he will find only emptiness in his 'justice'." Dumbledore's voice was very soft. "I worry about how he will fill himself."

_You worry about how others will fill him_, Snape thought. _That's why you tried so hard to keep him away from Lucius Malfoy._

"He only learned about Black this year. I suspect he will soon refocus his attention on Voldemort."

"That is the crux of what concerns me, Severus. Harry is eager to face him. He has twice now sought him out in this school. No one should be happy about conflict. I fear it is only a matter of time before he decides to cheerfully throw his life away in some mad quest."

"Life is conflict, Professor. It makes us strong."

"It is also capable of destroying us most thoroughly."

"All life must die. That is the way of things. It matters only whether or not one's death has meaning."

"Should not life have meaning also?"

"And Harry's will. The dark places where he has been walking are now lighted by the hope and happiness he has found in the wizarding world."

Silence.

Snape allowed himself a small, internal smile. It was not often that one could leave the wizened Dumbledore without words. He didn't approve of Dumbledore's role in exiling Harry from the wizarding world and inserted his opinion whenever he had the chance.

It had made the boy bitter and angry, a perfect environment to breed the sort of radicalism that had fuelled Voldemort's war. Now he needed to purge his dark emotions, and only judicious intervention at key moments would keep Harry from becoming a terror a thousand times worse then Voldemort. Letting him watch Peter Pettigrew receive the Dementor's Kiss had been just such an intervention.

Dumbledore regarded Snape with bemusement. "You think quite well of the boy."

Snape held his head higher, saying nothing.

The Headmaster added nothing further. Long moments passed with only the noises of the Forbidden Forest echoing around them. The full moon eventually poked itself up from beneath the horizon.

"And thus, once more, into the breach." Dumbledore said abruptly.

"An odd quotation, Headmaster," Snape observed neutrally.

"Not really," was the absent-sounding reply. "I think I'll stay out a spell. Good night, Severus."

The light of dawn poured through the window, spilling onto the office floor. Two loudly snoring men lay there. One of them wore tatty grey robes, no shoes, and had a tangled mess of black hair and beard. The other man was covered in a moth-eaten blanket, his clothes torn to shreds.

The naked man opened his eyes. He pulled the blanket tight around his bony body and reached into the drawer of the desk for his wand. He Summoned clean clothes from the wardrobe he had attached to the ceiling to keep it safe. He pulled on a shirt and fresh trousers, glad to feel like a man again. But this morning he had reason to reflect that the night hadn't been a torment.

The only times he'd had any peace from the beast within him had been with his Animagi friends. For twelve years, Moony had been alone. Now the night was no longer empty.

Padfoot was back.

The wolf, tamed by the Wolfsbane Potion, had been no ravening monster. Instead it had found peace and even joy, for it's old friend was here again.

Sirius stirred, and he raised his hand to block the sunlight. "Hell of a night," he mumbled.

"Just like old times."

"I don't remember ever being locked in a room in the old days," Sirius replied. "Well there was that one time when the Muggle police were chasing me on my motorbike-"

"That happened a lot, as I recall."

"But they didn't like it much when I disappeared out of the back of the paddy wagon and they mysteriously lost the evidence."

"Don't let Harry hear you tell that story."

Sirius sobered visibly. "My God, Moony. Can you believe him? It's James, and yet it's not James at all. It's like some creepy evil twin of James."

"He's had a hard life, Padfoot. Harry will tell you in time, but his Muggle relatives were not kind to him."

"Lily's sister and her oaf of a husband," Sirius said darkly. "I let Hagrid take Harry to them, Moony. I let him go so I could track down Peter. What do you mean they weren't kind to him?"

"It is not my place to tell you."

"Someone damn well better!"

"Harry will!" Remus said firmly. "Do stop shouting, Sirius. You'll wake the dead."

Sirius took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He changed the subject. "However those people treated him, it doesn't matter anymore. Harry's coming to live with me. I haven't got a place to live yet, though. I need to figure out money. I've still got my own account, and I can live off that for a short time if I must. My mother died a few years ago, you know."

"I remember you hated her."

"Blood this, blood that," Sirius replied with disgust. "But Mother never wrote me out of her will, officially. They told me that I was disqualified by reason of being a criminal. The inheritance went to my cousin Narcissa as the eldest Black. Now that I am a free man, I shall have to take it back from her."

"Narcissa married Lucius Malfoy, as you remember," Remus reminded him. "They have two sons. Brace yourself, Padfoot. One of them is Harry's best mate."

Sirius could not have looked more shocked if ice water had been thrown in the face. "My godson?"

"Yes. Sirius, I know this is hard to hear, but you need to stay calm. Harry is very close with the Malfoy family."

"By all that's sacred, _how_?"

"He's a Slytherin. He's famous. He has a lot of influence, even if he doesn't realize it yet. Is it any wonder that Lucius encouraged his son to befriend Harry?"

Sirius looked worried now. "Moony, I don't want them getting their hooks into him."

"It's a bit late, from what I gather." Remus was quite amazed that Sirius hadn't run out of the office yet. "The Malfoys took him in when he needed a place to go. He won't forget that easily. Harry and Draco Malfoy are fast friends. In a way, they actually remind me of us."

Sirius gagged. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't see much that can be done." Remus hated the feeling of helplessness. "If you try to break that friendship, all you're going to do is make Harry resent you. It would be like someone trying to make me reject you or Prongs or Wormtail. You were my friends; Draco is Harry's. The best we can do is to be positive influences in his life and do our best to keep him away from the Dark path."

"Thanks, Moony. Now I'm ready for it."

"You're very calm all of a sudden."

And suddenly, Remus didn't recognize the man before him as his friend, Sirius Black. "I have to be mature," the man said. "I can't do stupid things anymore. Harry needs me to be the adult. I promised James that Harry would be as my own son."

Remus had watched the war against Voldemort bring new gravitas to all of the Marauders, but Sirius had somehow retained just a touch of his disregard for his own personal safety. He had done more than his fair share of stupid, foolhardy, Gryffindor missions for the Order of the Phoenix. Now it seemed he had lost his death wish.

Snape stared at the door as Harry Potter shut it behind him. The boy had come to thank Snape for his actions in the Shrieking Shack, actions that had led to Sirius Black, the boy's godfather, being declared innocent of heinous crimes. Harry was now leaving Hogwarts to live with Black instead of the disgusting Muggles who had "cared" for Harry since the age of one.

The boy had just _thanked_ him for nearly allowing his blind hatred to deprive Harry of the one thing he most needed: love. It had been clear as day to Snape when Black had told his tale in the Headmaster's office. Black had loved James and Lily Potter and loved their son as well.

And with his wand at Black's neck, the story nearly hadn't had a happy ending.

There were a few father-figures in Harry's life, and Snape was certain that James Potter was rolling in his grave over every one of them. Snape actually took a perverse pleasure in that. Taking an interest in the boy let him appreciate Harry's virtues while satisfying the bitter part of him that hated Potter. But whether he still hated a dead man or not, he was only the boy's teacher.

Lucius Malfoy was a stern man, born of a hard-minded father. He had been made harder by the consequences of his decision to support Voldemort, and the fear for his family had rendered him very cautious. Snape suspected he was only hedging his bet out of self-interest. Not there was anything wrong with that. But Potter would never have trusted one who once followed such an evil maniac.

Black, though, Black was different. He had been Potter's best friend, and the two of them had plagued Snape's existence in school. But even Snape, who loathed Black, didn't doubt the strength of his sworn word. Black was someone whose loyalties could never be questioned. He would put Harry first.

It was another of those judicious moments of intervention that Snape had determined would be needed to keep Harry from straying off into darkness. Snape had never predicted this particular turn of events, but it was wholly welcome.

Professor Remus J. Lupin entered Headmaster Dumbledore's office wearing his most determined expression. He could no longer bear the weight of his guilt. It was time for this sinner to confess.

"Remus, do come in. Take a seat. Sherbet lemon? Licorice bite?" Dumbledore was all smiles.

"No, thank you, Albus. I'm afraid I come on serious matters. I must resign my post at once; I have betrayed you."

There. It was out. He'd finally admitted his deed. There could be no turning back now. In a way, he felt glad of that.

"I've known all year that several of the most secret passages have been unguarded. Sirius got into the school through one or more of them, and I did nothing to impede him."

"Most secret passages, Remus?" Dumbledore questioned lightly. "Those that only you and Sirius know about?"

"Yes." Remus felt his guts turn to lead. Dumbledore was directing that timeless gaze at him that he'd dreaded so much. "Sirius didn't become an Animagus after he finished school. He learned while he was here at Hogwarts. So did James and Peter. They did it for me, so that I wouldn't have to be alone in my madness. And they helped me. Every full moon, we explored all the nooks and crannies of this castle and the grounds except the Chamber of Secrets. Sirius was using his knowledge of the tunnels to get into the castle after Harry."

"Peter," Dumbledore corrected gently.

"No, I mean Harry. Because that's what we all thought. Every one of us, even you, believed Harry to be in phenomenal danger. Unless you were having us on?"

"No, Remus, I believed Sirius was after Harry, but I was wrong; we were all wrong. It is an important lesson: even one wise and powerful can be wrong. We are all merely human and imperfect. I will not accept your resignation on these grounds."

Remus was dumbstruck. Far from shouting at him like he deserved, Dumbledore was treating him kindly. "Sir!"

"You made a mistake in not telling me about his skills. So be it. We must be thankful that no one was hurt." Dumbledore now sounded faintly reproving. "It very easily could have ended in tragedy. I hope you can see that, Remus. Some secrets should not be kept."

Remus nodded absently, still somewhat in shock. "Please forgive me, Professor."

"I forgive you, Remus," Dumbledore said easily.

Remus took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the weight of his guilt easing. "I'm afraid I still must resign, sir. The public is in an uproar about a werewolf teaching their children."

"I can handle the public," Dumbledore responded forcefully. "Remus, the students love you. You excel at mastery of the subject material and make it understandable for these young minds. I need you here, teaching these children to combat the Dark forces in our world."

Remus swallowed a lump in his throat. "Thank you, Albus. That means so much to me. But I'm afraid I must. I don't feel myself suited to teaching for awhile. Perhaps in time."

"But not now. Not next year."

"No."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I cannot compel you, of course. I'm sorry, Remus."

"I'm sorry, too."


End file.
